LEVELAND    MOFFET 


I 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT  LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

Dr.  ERNEST  C.  MOORE 


<h 


v«- 


POSSESSED 


POSSESSED 

by 

CLEVELAND  MOFFETT 

Author  of  "Through  the  WoJX\  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  JAMES  A.  McCANN  COMPANY 

1920 


Copyright  lit*  by 
TH«  JAMES  A.  UcCANN  COIfTANT 

All  Right*  feMTMrf 


V       '  '.'•'•  .- 

«  »   ^  ..,..• 


Printed  in  U.  S.  A. 


PS 


DEDICATION 

Whatever  the  defects  or  limitations  of  this  story,  I  can 
assure  my  readers  that  it  is  largely  based  on  truth. 
Many  of  the  incidents,  including  the  dual  personality 
phenomena,  were  suggested  by  actual  happenings  known 
to  me.  The  doctor  who  accomplishes  cures  by  occult 
methods  is  a  friend  of  mine,  who  lives  and  practises  in 
New  York  City.  Seraphine,  the  medium,  is  also  a  real 
person.  The  episode  that  is  explained  by  waves  of  terror 
passing  from  one  apartment  to  another  and  separately 
affecting  three  unsuspecting  persons  is  not  imaginary, 
but  drawn  from  an  almost  identical  happening  that  I, 
myself,  witnessed  in  Paris,  France.  And  the  truth  about 
women  that  I  have  tried  to  fell  has  been  largely  obtained 
from  women  themselves,  women  in  various  walks  of  life, 
who  have  been  kind  enough  to  give  me  most  of  the 
opinions  and  experiences  that  are  contained  in  Penelope's 
diary.  To  them  I  now  gratefully  dedicate  this  book. 

C.  M. 


215199 


CONTENTS 


PROLOGUE 


I.    VOICES 6 

II.  WHAT   PENELOPE    COULD   NOT   TELL  THE 

DOCTOR 18 

III.  A  BOWL  OF  GOLD  FISH 42 

IV.  FIVE  PURPLE  MARKS 46 

V.  WHAT  REALLY  HAPPENED  AT  THE  STUDIO    .  53 

VI.    EARTH-BOUND 62 

VII.    JEWELS    .....* 70 

VIII.    WHITE  SHAPES 80 

IX.    THE  CONFESSIONAL  CLUB 90 

X.    FAUVETTE      .     .    -.-,.; 103 

XI.    THE  EVIL  SPIRIT in 

xii.  XKC   I  ;   .   .   ,   .'• us 

XIII.  TERROR    . 128 

XIV.  POSSESSED 142 

XV.    DR.  LEROY 149 

XVI.    IRRESPONSIBLE  HANDS 161 

XVII.    THE  HOUR  OF  THE  DREAM 169 

XVIII.    PLAYING  WITH  FIRE 179 

XIX.    PRIDE 192 

XX.    THE  MIRACLE 199 

XXL  THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN  THAT  NOBODY 

TELLS 210 

EPILOGUE 252 


"Keep  thy  heart  with  all  diligence;  for  out  of  it 
are  the  issues  of  life." 

PROVERBS,  Chapter  IF ',  Verse  23. 


POSSESSED 


PROLOGUE 
(June,  1914) 

SCARLET  LIGHTS 

THIS  story  presents  the  fulfillment  of  an  extraordi 
nary  prophecy  made  one  night,  suddenly  and  dramati 
cally,  at  a  gathering  of  New  Yorkers,  brought  together 
for  hilarious  purposes,  including  a  little  supper,  in  the 
Washington  Square  apartment  of  Bobby  Vallis — her 
full  name  was  Roberta.  There  were  soft  lights  and 
low  divans  and  the  strumming  of  a  painted  ukulele  that 
sang  its  little  twisted  soul  out  under  the  caress  of  Pene 
lope's  white  fingers.  I  can  still  see  the  big  black  opal 
in  its  quaint  setting  that  had  replaced  her  wedding  ring 
and  the  yellow  serpent  of  pliant  gold  coiled  on  her 
thumb  with  two  bright  rubies  for  its  eyes.  Penelope 
Wells!  How  little  we  realized  what  sinister  forces 
were  playing  about  her  that  pleasant  evening  as  we 
smoked  and  jested  and  sipped  our  glasses,  gazing  from 
time  to  time  up  the  broad  vista  of  Fifth  Avenue  with 
its  lines  of  receding  lights. 

There  had  been  an  impromptu  session  of  the  Con 
fessional  Club  during  which  several  men,  notably  a 


2  POSSESSED 

poet  in  velveteen  jacket,  had  vouchsafed  sentimental  or 
matrimonial  revelations  in  the  most  approved  Green 
wich  Village  style.  And  the  ladies,  unabashed,  had 
discussed  these  things. 

But  not  a  word  did  Penelope  Wells  speak  of  her 
own  matrimonial  troubles,  which  were  known  vaguely 
to  most  of  us,  although  we  had  never  met  the  drunken 
brute  of  a  husband  who  had  made  her  life  a  torment. 
I  can  see  her  now  in  profile  against  the  open  window, 
her  eyes  dark  with  their  slumberous  fires.  I  remember 
the  green  earrings  she  wore  that  night,  and  how  they 
reached  down  under  her  heavy  black  braids — reached 
down  caressingly  over  her  white  neck.  She  was  a 
strangely,  fiercely  beautiful  creature,  made  to  love  and 
to  be  loved,  fated  for  tragic  happenings.  She  was 
twenty-nine. 

The  discussion  waxed  warm  over  the  eternal  ques 
tion — how  shall  a  woman  satisfy  her  emotional  nature 
when  she  has  no  chance  or  almost  no  chance  to  marry 
the  man  she  longs  to  marry? 

Roberta  Vallis  put  forth  views  that  would  have 
frozen  old-fashioned  moralists  into  speechless  dis 
approval — entire  freedom  of  choice  and  action  for 
women  as  well  as  men,  freedom  to  unite  with  a  mate 
or  separate  from  a  mate — both  sexes  to  have  exactly 
the  same  responsibilities  or  lack  of  responsibilities  in 
these  sentimental  arrangements. 

"No,  no!  I  call  that  loathsome,  abominable,"  de 
clared  Penelope,  and  the  poet  adoringly  agreed  with 
her,  although  his  practice  had  been  notoriously  at 
variance  with  these  professions. 


EPILOGUE  3 

"Suppose  a  woman  finds  herself  married  to  some 
beast  of  a  man,"  flashed  Roberta,  "some  worthless 
drunkard,  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  it  is  her  duty  to  stick 
to  such  a  husband,  and  spoil  her  whole  life?" 

To  which  Penelope,  hiding  her  agitation,  said:  "I 
— I  am  not  discussing  that  phase  of  the  question.  I 
mean  that  if  a  woman  is  alone  in  the  world,  if  she 
longs  for  the  companionship  of  a  man — the  intimate 
companionship " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!"  snickered  the  poet.  I  can  see  his 
close  cropped  yellow  beard  and  his  red  face  wrinkling 
in  merriment  at  this  supposition. 

"I  hate  your  Greenwich  Village  philosophy," 
stormed  Penelope.  "You  haven't  the  courage,  the 
understanding  to  commit  one  big  splendid  sin  that  even 
the  angels  in  heaven  might  approve,  but  you  fritter 
away  your  souls  and  spoil  your  bodies  in  cheap  little 
sins  that  are  just — disgusting!" 

The  poet  shrivelled  under  her  scorn. 

"But — one  splendid  sin?"  he  stammered.  "That 
means  a  woman  must  go  to  her  mate,  doesn't  it?" 

"Without  marriage?  Never!  I'll  tell  you  what  a 
woman  should  do — I'll  tell  you  what  I  would  do,  just 
to  prove  that  I  am  not  conventional,  I  would  act  on 
the  principle  that  there  is  a  sacred  right  God  has  given 
to  every  woman  who  is  born,  a  right  that  not  even  God 
Himself  can  take  away  from  her,  I  mean  the  right 

A  muffled  scream  interrupted  her,  a  quick  catching 
of  the  breath  by  a  stout  lady,  a  new  comer,  who  was 
seated  on  a  divan.  I  should  have  judged  this  woman 


4  POSSESSED 

to  be  a  rather  commonplace  person  except  that  her 
deeply  sunken  eyes  seemed  to  carry  a  far  away  ex 
pression  as  if  she  saw  things  that  were  invisible  to 
others.  Now  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  Penelope. 

"Oh,  the  beautiful  scarlet  light!"  she  murmured. 
"There!  Don't  you  see — moving  down  her  arm? 
And  another  one — on  her  shoulder!  Scarlet  lights! 
My  poor  child !  My  poor  child !" 

Ordinarily  we  would  have  laughed  at  this,  for,  of 
course,  we  saw  no  scarlet  lights,  but  somehow  now  we 
did  not  laugh.  On  the  contrary  we  fell  into  hushed 
and  wondering  attention,  and,  turning  to  Roberta,  we 
learned  that  this  was  Seraphine,  a  trance  medium  who 
had  given  seances  for  years  to  scientists  and  occult 

investigators,  and  was  now  assisting  Dr.  W ,  of 

the  American  Occult  Society. 

"A  seance!  Magnificent!  Let  us  have  a  seance!" 
whispered  the  poet.  "Tell  us,  madam,  can  you  really 
lift  the  veil  of  the  future?" 

But  already  Seraphine  had  settled  back  on  the  divan 
and  I  saw  that  her  eyes  had  closed  and  her  breathing 
was  quieter,  although  her  body  was  shaken  from  time 
to  time  by  little  tremors  as  if  she  were  recovering  from 
some  great  agitation.  We  watched  her  wonderingly, 
and  presently  she  began  to  speak,  at  first  slowly  and 
painfully,  then  in  her  natural  tone.  Her  message  was 
so  brief,  so  startling  in  its  purport  that  there  can  be  no 
question  of  any  error  in  this  record. 

"Penelope  will — cross  the  ocean,"  Seraphine  began 
dreamily.  "Her  husband  will  die — very  soon.  There 
will  be  war — soon.  She  will  go  to  the  war  and  will 


EPILOGUE  5 

have  honors  conferred  upon  her — on  the  battlefield. 
She  will — she  will," — the  medium's  face  changed 
startlingly  to  a  mask  of  anguish  and  her  bosom 
heaved.  "Oh,  my  poor  child!  I  see  you — I  see  you 
going  down  to — to  horror — to  terror — Ah!" 

She  cried  out  in  fright  and  stopped  speaking;  then, 
after  a  moment  of  dazed  effort,  she  came  back  to 
reality  and  looked  at  us  as  before  out  of  her  sunken 
eyes,  a  plump  little  kindly  faced  woman  resting  against 
a  blue  pillow. 

Now,  whatever  one  may  think  of  mediums,  the  facts 
are  that  Penelope's  husband  died  suddenly  in  an  auto 
mobile  accident  within  a  month  of  this  memorable 
evening.  And  within  two  months  the  great  war  burst 
upon  the  world.  And  within  a  year  Penelope  did  cross 
the  ocean  as  a  Red  Cross  Nurse,  and  it  is  a  matter  of 
record  that  she  was  decorated  for  valor  under  fire  of 
the  enemy. 

This  story  has  to  do  with  the  remainder  of  Sera- 
phine's  prophecy. 


CHAPTER  I 
(January,  1919) 

VOICES 

PENELOPE  moved  nervously  in  her  chair,  evident] 
very  much  troubled  about  something  as  she  waited  i 
the  doctor's  office.  Her  two  years  in  France  had  adde 
a  touch  of  mystery  to  her  strange  beauty.  Her  ey< 
were  more  veiled  in  their  burning,  as  if  she  ha 
glimpsed  something  that  had  frightened  her;  yet  the 
were  eyes  that,  even  unintentionally,  carried  a  messag 
to  men,  an  alluring,  appealing  message  to  men.  Wit 
her  red  mouth,  her  fascinatingly  unsymmetrical  moutl 
and  her  sinuous  body  Penelope  Wells  at  thirty-thn 
was  the  kind  of  woman  men  look  at  twice  and  remen 
ber.  She  was  dressed  in  black. 

When  Dr.  William  Owen  entered  the  front  room  c 
his  Ninth  Street  office  he  greeted  her  with  the  roug 
kindliness  that  a  big  man  in  his  profession,  a  bij 
hearted  man,  shows  to  a  young  woman  whose  cas 
interests  him  and  whose  personality  is  attractive. 

"I  got  your  note,  Mrs.  Wells,"  he  began,  "and 
had  a  letter  about  you  from  my  young  friend,  Captai 
Herrick.     I  needn't  say  that  I  had  already  read  aboi 
your  bravery  in  the  newspapers.     The  whole  counti 

6 


VOICES  7 

has  been  sounding  your  praises.  When  did  you  get 
back  to  New  York?" 

"About  a  week  ago,  doctor.  I  came  on  a  troop  ship 
with  several  other  nurses.  I — I  wish  I  had  never 
come." 

There  was  a  note  of  pathetic,  ominous  sadness  in 
her  voice.  Even  in  his  first  study  of  this  lovely  face, 
the  doctor's  experienced  eye  told  him  that  here  was  a 
case  of  complicated  nervous  breakdown.  He  wondered 
if  she  could  have  had  a  slight  touch  of  shell  shock. 
What  a  ghastly  thing  for  a  high  spirited,  sensitive 
young  woman  to  be  out  on  those  battle  fields  in  France ! 

"You  mustn't  say  that,  Mrs.  Wells.  We  are  all 
very  proud  of  you.  Think  of  having  the  crolx  de 
guerre  pinned  on  your  dress  by  the  commanding  gen 
eral  before  a  whole  regiment!  Pretty  fine  for  an 
American  woman!" 

Penelope  Wells  sat  quite  still,  playing  with  the  flex 
ible  serpent  ring  on  her  thumb,  and  looked  at  the 
doctor  out  of  her  wonderful  deep  eyes  that  seemed  to 
burn  with  a  mysterious  fire.  Could  there  be  something 
Oriental  about  her — or — or  Indian,  the  physician 
wondered. 

"Doctor,"  she  said,  in  a  low  tone,  "I  have  come 
to  tell  you  the  truth  about  myself,  and  the  truth  is 
that  I  deserve  no  credit  for  what  I  did  that  day,  be 
cause  I — I  did  not  want  to  live.  I  wanted  them  to  kill 
me,  I  took  every  chance  so  that  they  would  kill  me; 
but  God  willed  it  differently,  the  shells  and  bullets 
swept  all  around  me,  cut  through  my  dress,  through 
my  hair,  but  did  not  harm  me." 


8  POSSESSED 

"Tell  me  a  little  more  about  it,  just  quietly.  HOT 
did  you  happen  to  go  out  there?  Was  it  because  yoi 
heard  that  Captain  Herrick  was  wounded?  That' 
the  way  the  papers  cabled  the  story.  Was  that  true?' 
Then,  seeing  her  face  darken,  he  added:  "Perhap 
I  ought  not  to  ask  that  question?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  want  you  to.  I  want  you  to  know  ever} 
thing  about  me — everything.  That's  why  I  am  here 
Captain  Herrick  says  you  are  a  great  specialist  in  nerv 
ous  troubles,  and  I  have  a  feeling  that  unless  you  cai 
help  me  nobody  can." 

"Well,  I  have  helped  some  people  who  felt  prett 
blue  about  life — perhaps  I  can  help  you.  Now,  then 
what  is  the  immediate  trouble?  Any  aches  or  pains 
I  must  say  you  seem  to  be  in  splendid  health,"  h 
smiled  at  her  with  cheery  admiration. 

"It  isn't  my  body.     I  have  no  physical  suffering, 
eat  well  enough,  I  sleep  well,  except — my  dreams, 
have  horrible,  torturing  dreams,  doctor.     I'm  afraii 
to  go  to  sleep.    I  have  the  same  dreams  over  and  ove 
again,  especially  two  dreams  that  haunt  me." 

"How  long  have  you  had  these  dreams?" 

"Ever  since  I  went  out  that  dreadful  day  from  Mont 
didier — when  the  Germans  almost  broke  through 
They  told  me  Captain  Herrick  was  lying  there  help 
less,  out  beyond  our  lines.  So  I  went  to  him.  I  don' 
know  how  I  got  there,  but — I  found  him.  He  wa 
wounded  in  the  thigh  and  a  German  beast  was  stand 
ing  over  him  when  I  came  up.  He  was  going  to  rui 
him  through  with  a  bayonet.  And  somehow,  I — 


VOICES  9 

don't  know  how  I  did  it,  but  I  caught  up  a  pistol  from 
a  dead  soldier  and  I  shot  the  German." 

"Good  Lord!  You  don't  say!  They  didn't  have 
that  in  the  papers !  What  a  woman !  No  wonder 
you've  had  bad  dreams!" 

Penelope  passed  a  slender  hand  over  her  eyes  as  if 
to  brush  away  evil  memories,  then  she  said  wearily: 
"It  isn't  that,  they  are  not  ordinary  dreams." 

"Well,  what  kind  of  dreams  are  they?  You  say 
there  are  two  dreams?" 

"There  are  two  that  I  have  had  over  and  over  again, 
but  there  are  others,  all  part  of  a  sequence  with  the 
same  person  in  them." 

The  doctor  looked  at  her  sharply.  "The  same  per 
son?  A  person  that  you  recognize?" 

"Yes." 

"A  person  you  have  really  seen?     A  man?" 

"Yes,  the  man  I  killed." 

"Oh!" 

"I  told  you  he  was  a  beast.  I  saw  that  in  his  face, 
but  I  know  it  now  because  I  dream  of  things  that  he 
did  as  a  conqueror — in  the  villages." 

"I  see — brutal  things?" 

"Worse  than  that.  In  one  dream  I  see  him — Oh!" 
she  shuddered  and  the  agony  in  her  eyes  was  more  elo 
quent  than  words. 

"My  dear  lady,  you  are  naturally  wrought  up  by 
these  dreadful  experiences,  you  need  rest,  quiet  sur 
roundings,  good  food,  a  little  relaxation " 

"No,  no,  no,"  Mrs.  Wells  interrupted  impatiently. 


io  POSSESSED 

"Don't  tell  me  those  old  things.  I  am  a  trained  nurse. 
I  know  my  case  is  entirely  different." 

"How  is  it  different?  We  all  have  dreams.  I  have 
dreams  myself.  One  night  I  dreamed  that  I  was  dis 
secting  the  janitor  downstairs;  sometimes  I  wish  I 
had." 

Penelope  brushed  aside  this  effort  at  humor.  "You 
haven't  dreamed  that  twenty  times  with  every  detail 
the  same,  have  you?  That's  how  I  dream.  I  see  these 
faces,  real  faces,  again  and  again.  I  hear  the  same 
cries,  the  same  words,  vile  words.  Oh,  I  can't  tell  you 
how  horrible  it  is!" 

"But  we  are  not  responsible  for  our  dreams,"  the 
doctor  insisted. 

She  shook  her  head  wearily.  "That's  just  the  point, 
it  seems  to  me  that  I  am  responsible.  I  feel  as  if  I 
enjoy  these  horrible  dreams — while  I  am  dreaming 
them.  When  I  am  awake,  the  very  thought  of  them 
makes  me  shudder,  but  while  I  am  dreaming  I  seem  to 
be  an  entirely  different  person — a  low,  vulgar  creatare 
proud  of  the  brutal  strength  and  coarseness  of  her 
man.  I  seem  to  be  a  part  of  this  human  beast!  When 
I  wake  up  I  feel  as  if  my  soul  had  been  stained,  dragged 
in  the  mire,  almost  lost.  It  seems  as  if  I  could  never 
again  feel  any  self-respect.  Oh,  doctor,"  Penelope's 
voice  broke  and  the  tears  filled  her  eyes,  "you  must 
help  me !  I  cannot  bear  this  torture  any  longer !  What 
can  I  do  to  escape  from  such  a  curse?" 

Seldom,  in  his  years  of  practice,  had  the  specialist 
been  so  moved  by  a  patient's  confession  as  was  Dr. 
Owen  during  Penelope's  revelation  of  her  suffering. 


VOICES  ii 

As  a  kindly  human  soul  he  longed  to  help  this  agonized 
mortal ;  as  a  scientific  expert  he  was  eager  to  solve  the 
mystery  of  this  nervous  disorder.  He  leaned  toward 
her  with  a  look  of  compassion. 

"Be  assured,  my  dear  Mrs.  Wells,  I  shall  do  every 
thing  in  my  power  to  help  you.  And  in  order  to  ac 
complish  what  we  want,  I  must  understand  a  great 
many  things  about  your  past  life."  He  drew  a  letter 
from  his  pocket.  "Let  me  look  over  what  Captain 
Herrick  wrote  me  about  you.  Hm!  He  refers  to 
your  married  life?" 

"Yes." 

The  doctor  studied  the  letter  in  silence.  "I  see. 
Your  husband  died  about  four  years  ago?" 

"Four  years  and  a  half." 

"I  judge  that  your  married  life  was  not  very 
happy?" 

"That  is  true,  it  was  very  unhappy." 

"Is  there  anything  in  your  memory  of  your  husband, 
any  details  regarding  your  married  life,  that  may  have 
a  bearing  on  your  present  state  of  mind?" 

"I — I  think  perhaps  there  is,"  she  answered  hesi 
tatingly. 

"Is  it  something  of  an  intimate  nature  that — er — 
you  find  it  difficult  to  tell  me  about?" 

"I  will  tell  you  about  it,  doctor,  but,  if  you  don't 
mind,"  she  made  a  pathetic  little  gesture,  "I  would 
rather  tell  you  at  some  other  time.  It  has  no  bearing 
upon  my  immediate  trouble,  that  is,  I  don't  think  it 
has." 

"Good.    We'll  take  that  up  later  on.    Now  I  want 


12  POSSESSED 

to  ask  another  question.  I  understood  you  to  say  that 
when  you  did  that  brave  act  on  the  battle  field  you 
really  wanted  to — to  have  the  whole  thing  over  with?" 

"Yes,  I  did." 

"You  did  not  go  out  to  rescue  Captain  Herrick  sim 
ply  because  you — let  us  say,  cared  for  him?" 

For  the  first  time  Penelope's  face  lighted  in  an 
amused  smile.  "I  haven't  said  that  I  care  for  Captain 
Herrick,  have  I?  I  don't  mind  telling  you,  though, 
that  I  should  not  have  gone  into  that  danger  if  I  had 
not  known  that  Chris  was  wounded.  I  cared  for  him 
enough  to  want  to  help  him." 

"But  not  enough  to  go  on  living?" 

"No,  I  did  not  want  to  go  on  living." 

He  eyed  her  with  the  business-like  tenderness  that 
an  old  doctor  feels  for  a  beautiful  young  patient.  "Of 
course,  you  realize,  Mrs.  Wells,  that  it  will  be  im 
possible  for  me  to  help  you  or  relieve  your  distressing 
symptoms  unless  you  tell  me  what  is  behind  them.  I 
must  know  clearly  why  it  was  that  you  did  not  wish  to 
go  on  living." 

"I  understand,  doctor,  I  am  perfectly  willing  to  tell 
you.  It  is  because  I  was  convinced  that  my  mind  was 
affected." 

"Oh!"  He  smiled  at  her  indulgently.  "I  can  tell 
you,  my  dear  lady,  that  I  never  saw  a  young  woman 
who,  as  far  as  outward  appearances  go,  struck  me  as 
being  more  sane  and  healthy  than  yourself.  What  gives 
you  this  idea  that  your  mind  is  affected?  Not  those 
dreams?  You  are  surely  too  intelligent  to  give  such 
importance  to  mere  dreams?" 


VOICES  13 

Penelope  bit  her  red  lips  in  perplexed  indecision, 
then  she  leaned  nearer  the  doctor  and  spoke  in  a  low 
tone,  glancing  nervously  over  her  shoulder.  Fear  was 
plainly  written  on  her  face. 

"No — it's  not  just  the  dreams.  They  are  horrible 
enough,  but  I  have  faith  that  you  will  help  me  get  rid 
of  them.  There's  something  else,  something  more 
serious,  more  uncanny.  It  terrifies  me.  I  feel  that 
I'm  in  the  power  of  some  supernatural  being  who  takes 
a  fiendish  delight  in  torturing  me.  I'm  not  a  coward, 
Dr.  Owen,"  Penelope  lifted  her  head  proudly,  "for  I 
truly  have  no  fear  of  real  danger  that  I  can  see  and 

face  squarely,  but  the  unseen,  the  unknown "  She 

broke  off  suddenly,  a  strained,  listening  look  on  her 
face.  Then  she  shivered  though  the  glowing  fire  in 
the  grate  was  making  the  room  almost  uncomfortably 
warm. 

"Do  you  mind  giving  me  some  details?"  Dr.  Owen 
spoke  in  his  gentlest  manner,  for  he  realized  that  he 
must  gain  her  confidence. 

Pentelope  continued  with  an  effort: 

"For  several  months  I  have  heard  voices  about  mev 
sometimes  when  no  one  is  present,  sometimes  in 
crowds  on  the  street,  at  church,  anywhere.  But  the 
voices  that  I  hear  are  not  the  voices  of  real  persons." 

"What  kind  of  voices  are  they?  Are  they  loud? 
Are  they  distinct?  Or  are  they  only  vague  whispers?" 

"They  are  perfectly  distinct  voices,  just  as  clear  as 
ordinary  voices.  And  they  are  voices  of  different  per 
sons.  I  can  tell  them  apart;  but  none  of  them  are 
voices  of  persons  that  I  have  ever  seen  or  known." 


-I4  POSSESSED 

"Hm !  I  suppose  you  have  heard,  as  a  trained  nurse, 
of  what  we  call  clairaudient  hallucinations?" 

"Yes,  doctor,  and  I  know  that  those  hallucinations 
often  appear  in  the  early  stages  of  insanity.  That  is 
what  distresses  me." 

"How  often  do  you  hear  these  voices — not  all  the 
time?  Do  you  hear  them  in  the  night?" 

"I  hear  them  at  any  time — day  or  night.  I  have 
tried  not  to  notice  them,  I  pretend  that  I  do  not  hear 
them.  I  do  my  best  to  forget  them.  I  have  prayed 
to  God  that  He  will  make  these  voices  cease  troubling 
me,  that  He  will  make  them  go  away;  but  nothing 
seems  to  do  any  good." 

"What  kind  of  things  do  these  voices  say?  Do  they 
seem  to  be  talking  to  you  directly?" 

"Sometimes  they  do,  sometimes  they  seem  to  be  talk 
ing  about  me,  as  if  two  or  three  persons  were  discuss 
ing  me,  criticizing  me.  They  say  very  unkind  things. 
It  seems  as  if  they  read  my  thoughts  and  make  mis 
chievous,  wicked  comments  on  them.  Sometimes  they 
say  horrid  things,  disgusting  things.  Sometimes  they 
give  me  orders.  I  am  to  do  this  or  that;  or  I  am  not 
to  do  this  or  that.  Sometimes  they  say  the  same  word 
over  and  over  again,  many  times.  It  was  that  way 
when  I  went  out  on  the  battlefield  to  help  Captain 
Herrick.  As  I  ran  along,  stumbling  over  the  dead 
and  wounded,  I  heard  these  voices  crying  out:  'Fool! 
Fool!  Don't  do  it!  You  mustn't  do  it!  You're  a 
coward !  You  know  you're  a  coward !  You're  going 
to  be  killed!  You're  a  little  fool  to  get  yourself 
killed!"' 


VOICES  15 

"And  yet  you  went  on?  You  did  not  obey  these* 
voices?" 

"I  went  on  because  I  was  desperate.  I  tell  you  I 
wanted  to  die.  What  is  the  use  of  living  if  one  is  per 
secuted  like  this?  There  is  nothing  to  live  for,  is 
there?" 

He  met  her  pathetic  look  with  confidence. 

"I  think  there  is,  Mrs.  Wells.  There  is  a  lot  to 
live  for.  Those  hallucinations  and  dreams  are  not  as 
uncommon  as  you  think.  I  could  give  you  cases  of 
shell  shock  patients  who  have  suffered  in  this  way 
and  come  back  to  normal  health.  You  have  been 
through  enough,  my  young  friend,  to  bring  about  a 
somewhat  hysterical  condition  that  is  susceptible  of 
cure,  if  you  will  put  yourself  in  favorable  conditions. 
Do  you  mind  if  I  ask  you  straight  out  whether  you 
have  any  objections  to  marrying  a  second  time?" 

"N — no,  that  is  to  say  I — er "  The  color 

burned  in  her  cheeks  and  Owen  took  note  of  this  under 
his  grizzled  brows. 

"As  an  old  friend  of  the  family — I  mean  Herrick's 
family — may  I  ask  you  if  you  would  have  any  objec 
tion  to  Captain  Herrick  as  a  husband — assuming  that 
you  are  willing  to  accept  any  husband?" 

"I  like  Captain  Herrick  very  much,  I — I  think  I 
care  for  him  more  than  any  man  I  know,  but " 

"Well?  If  you  love  Herrick  and  he  loves  you " 

Owen  broke  off  here  with  a  new  thought,  "Ah,  perhaps 
that  is  the  trouble,  perhaps  Captain  Herrick  has  not 
told  you  that  he  loves  you?  I  hope,  dear  lady,  I  am 
not  forcing  your  confidence?" 


1 6  POSSESSED 

"No,  doctor,  I  want  you  to  know.  Captain  Herrick 
cares  for  me,  he  loves  me,  he  has  asked  me  to  marry 
him,  but — I  have  refused  him." 

"But  why — if  you  love  him?    Why  refuse  him?" 

"Oh,  can't  you  see?  Can't  you  understand?  How 
could  I  think  of  such  a  thing,  knowing,  as  I  do,  that 
something  is  wrong  with  my  mind?  It  is  quite  impos 
sible.  Besides,  there  is  another  reason." 

"Another  reason?"  he  repeated. 

"It  has  to  do  with  my  married  life.  As  I  said  I 
would  rather  tell  you  about  that  some  other  time — if 
you  don't  mind?" 

He  saw  that  she  could  go  no  farther. 

"Exactly,  some  other  time.  Let  us  say  in  about  two 
weeks.  During  that  time  my  prescription  for  you  is  a 
rest  down  at  Atlantic  City  with  long  walks  and  a  dip 
in  the  pool  every  morning.  Come  back  then  and  tell 
me  how  you  feel,  and  don't  think  about  those  dreams 
and  voices.  But  think  about  your  past  life — about 
those  things  that  you  find  it  hard  to  tell  me.  It  may 
not  be  necessary  to  tell  me  provided  you  know  the  truth 
yourself.  Will  you  promise  that?"  He  smiled  at  her 
encouragingly  as  she  nodded.  "Good !  Now  be  cheer 
ful.  I  am  not  deceiving  you,  Mrs.  Wells,  I  am  too 
sensible  an  old  timer  to  do  that.  I  give  you  my  word 
that  these  troubles  can  be  easily  handled.  I  really 
do  not  consider  you  in  a  serious  condition.  Now  then, 
until  two  weeks  from  today.  I'll  make  you  a  friendly 
little  bet  that  when  I  see  you  again  you'll  be  dreaming 
about  flower  gardens  and  blue  skies  and  pretty  sunsets. 
Good  morning." 


VOICES  17 

He  watched  her  closely  as  she  turned  with  a  sad  yet 
hopeful  smile  to  leave  the  room. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  doctor.  I'll  come  back  two 
weeks  from  today." 

Then  she  was  gone. 

For  some  minutes  Owen  sat  drumming  on  his  desk, 
lost  in  thought.  "By  George,  that's  a  queer  case.  Her 
other  reason  is  the  real  one.  I  wonder  what  it  is?" 


CHAPTER  II 

WHAT   PENELOPE    COULD   NOT   TELL  THE   DOCTOR 

(Fragments  f  om  Her  Diary) 

Atlantic  City,  Tuesday. 

I  CANNOT  tell  what  is  on  my  mind,  I  cannot  tell 
anyone,  even  a  doctor;  but  I  will  keep  my  promise  and 
look  into  my  past  life.  I  will  open  those  precious, 
tragic,  indiscreet  little  volumes  bound  in  red  leather  in 
which  I  have  for  years  put  down  my  thoughts  and 
intimate  experiences.  I  have  always  found  comfort  in 
my  diary. 

I  am  thirty-three  years  old  and  for  ten  years,  be 
ginning  before  I  was  married,  I  have  kept  this  record. 
I  wrote  of  my  unhappiness  with  my  husband;  I  wrote 
of  my  lonely  widowhood  and  of  my  many  temptations ; 
I  wrote  of  my  illness,  my  morbid  cravings  and  hallu 
cinations. 

There  are  several  of  these  volumes  and  I  have  more 
than  once  been  on  the  point  of  burning  them,  but  some 
how  I  could  not.  However  imperfectly  I  have  ex 
pressed  myself  and  however  mistaken  I  may  be  in  my 
interpretation  of  life,  I  have  at  least  not  been  afraid 
to  speak  the  truth  about  myself  and  about  other  women 
I  have  known,  and  truth,  even  the  smallest  fragment 
of  it,  is  an  infinitely  precious  thing. 

18 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL     19 

What  a  story  of  a  woman's  struggles  and  emotions 
is  contained  in  these  pages !  I  wonder  what  Dr.  Owen 
would  think  if  he  could  read  them.  Heavens!  How 
freely  dare  I  draw  upon  these  intimate  chapters  of 
my  life?  How  much  must  the  doctor  know  in  order 
to  help  me — to  save  me? 

Shall  I  reveal  myself  to  him  as  I  really  was  during 
those  agitated  years  before  my  marriage  when  I  faced 
the  struggle  of  life,  the  temptations  of  life — an  at 
tractive  young  woman  alone  in  New  York  City,  earn 
ing  her  own  living? 

And  how  shall  I  tell  the  truth  about  my  unhappy 
married  life — the  torture  and  degradation  of  it?  The 
truth  about  my  widowhood — those  two  gay  years  be 
fore  the  great  disaster  came,  when,  with  money  enough, 
I  let  myself  go  in  selfish  pursuit  of  pleasure — playing 
with  fire  ? 

As  I  turn  over  these  agitated  pages  I  feel  I  have 
tried  to  be  honest.  I  rebel  against  hypocrisy,  I  hate 
false  pretense,  often  I  make  myself  out  worse  than  I 
really  am. 

In  one  place  I  find  this: 

"There  is  no  originality  in  women.  They  do  what 
they  see  others  do,  they  think  what  they  are  told  to 
think — like  a  flock  of  sheep.  Their  hair  is  a  joke — 
absurd  frizzles  and  ear  puffs  that  are  always  imitated. 
Their  shoes  are  a  tragedy.  Their  corsets  are  a  crime. 
But  they  would  die  rather  than  change  these  ordered 
abominations.  So  would  I.  I  flock  with  the  crowd. 
I  hobble  my  skirts,  wear  summer  furs,  powder  my  nose, 
wave  my  hair  (permanently  or  not)  according  to  the 


20  POSSESSED 

commands  of  fashion,  but  I  hate  myself  for  doing  it. 
/  am  a  woman!" 

I  am  a  woman  and  most  women  are  liars — so  are 
most  men — but  there  is  more  excuse  for  women  be 
cause  centuries  of  oppression  have  made  us  afraid 
to  tell  the  truth.  I  try  to  be  original  by  speaking  the 
truth — part  of  it,  at  least — in  this  diary. 

On  one  page  I  find  this: 

"The  truth  is  that  women  love  pursuit  and  are  easily 
reconciled  to  capture.  Why  else  do  they  deck  them 
selves  out  in  finery,  perfume  themselves,  bejewel  them 
selves,  flaunt  their  charms  (including  decollete  charms 
and  alluring  bathing  suit  charms)  in  every  possible 
way?  I  do  this  myself — why?  I  have  a  supple  figure 
and  I  dance  without  corsets,  or  rather  with  only  a 
band  to  hold  up  my  stockings.  I  wear  low  cut  evening 
gowns,  the  most  captivating  I  can  afford.  I  love  to 
flirt.  I  could  not  live  without  admiration,  and  other 
women  are  the  same.  They  all  have  something  that 
they  are  vain  about — eyes,  nose,  mouth,  voice,  teeth, 
hair,  complexion,  hands,  feet,  figure — something  thai 
they  are  <vain  about.  And  what  is  vanity  but  a  con 
sciousness  of  power  to  attract  men  and  make  other 
women  envious?  There  are  only  two  efforts  that  the 
human  race  take  seriously  (after  they  have  fed  them 
selves)  :  the  effort  of  women  to  attract  men,  the  effort 
of  men  to  capture  womeft." 

Wednesday. 

In  searching  back  through  the  years  for  the  cause  of 
this  disaster  that  has  brought  me  to  the  point  where 
a  woman's  reason  is  overthrown,  I  see  that  I  was  al- 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL     21 

ways  selfish,  absorbed  in  my  own  problems  and  vani 
ties,  my  own  disappointments,  grievances,  emotions. 
It  was  what  I  could  get  out  of  life,  not  what  I  could 
give,  that  concerned  me.  I  was  vain  of  my  good  looks. 
I  craved  admiration. 

Once  I  wrote  in  my  diary: 

"I  often  stand  before  my  mirror  at  night  before  I 
go  to  bed  and  admire  my  own  sombre  beauty.  I  let  my 
hair  fall  in  a  black  cloud  over  my  shoulders,  then  I 
braid  it  slowly  with  bare  arms  lifted  in  graceful  poses. 
I  sway  my  hips  like  Carmen,  I  thrust  red  flowers  into 
my  bosom.  I  move  my  head  languidly,  letting  my  white 
teeth  gleam  between  red  lips.  I  study  my  profile  with 
a  hand  glass,  getting  the  double  reflection.  I  smile  and 
beckon  with  my  eyes.  Yes,  I  am  a  beautiful  woman — 
primeval,  elemental — I  was  made  for  love." 

Again  I  wrote,  showing  that  I  half  understood  the 
perils  that  beset  me: 

"Women  are  moths,  they  love  to  play  with  fire. 
They  are  irresistibly  driven — like  poor  little  birds  that 
dash  themselves  against  a  lighthouse — towards  the 
burning  excitements  connected  with  the  allurement  of 
men.  They  live  for  admiration.  The  besetting  sin 
of  all  women  is  vanity;  vanity  is  a  woman's  conscious 
ness  of  her  power  over  men." 

And  again: 

"It  is  almost  impossible  for  a  fascinating  woman  not 
to  flirt  a  little — sometimes.  For  example,  she  passes  a 
man  on  the  street,  a  distinguished  looking  man.  She 
does  not  know  him,  but  their  eyes  have  met  in  a  certain 
way  and  she  feels  that  he  is  attracted  by  her.  She  has 


22  POSSESSED 

on  a  pretty  dress  with  a  bunch  of  violets.  She  wonders 
whether  this  man  has  turned  back  to  look  at  her — she 
is  sure  he  has — she  longs  to  look  back.  No  matter  how 
much  culture  and  breeding  she  has,  she  longs  to  look 
back!" 

No  wonder  that,  with  such  thoughts  and  inclina 
tions,  I  was  always  more  or  less  under  temptation  with 
men,  who  were  drawn  to  me,  I  suppose,  just  as  I  was 
drawn  to  them.  And  I  tried  to  excuse  myself  in  the 
old  way,  as  here : 

"It  is  certain  that  some  women  have  strong  emo 
tional  desires,  whereas  other  women  have  none  at  all 
or  scarcely  any.  This  fact  has  an  evident  bearing  upon 
the  question  of  women's  morality.  Some  women  must 
be  judged  more  leniently  than  others.  I  have  won 
dered  if  there  are  similar  differences  in  men.  I  doubt 
it!" 

Of  course  I  had  agitating  experiences  with  men  be 
cause  I  half  invited  them.  It  seemed  as  if  I  could  not 
help  it.  As  I  say  myself,  I  was  a  moth,  I  wanted  to 
play  with  fire. 

On  the  next  page  I  find  this : 

"Seraphine  disapproves  of  my  attitude  towards  men. 
She  gave  me  a  great  talking  to  last  night  and  said 
things  I  would  not  take  from  anyone  else.  Dear  old 
Seraphine,  she  is  so  fine  and  kindl  She  says  there  is 
nothing  in  my  physical  makeup  that  compels  me  to  be 
a  flirt.  I  can  act  more  discreetly  if  I  wish  to.  It  is 
my  mental  attitude  toward  romantic  things  that  is 
wrong.  Thousands  of  women  just  as  pretty  as  I  am 
never  place  themselves  in  situations  with  men  that 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL     23 

are  almost  certain  to  lead  them  into  temptation.  They 
will  not  start  an  emotional  episode  that  may  easily,  as 
they  know  quite  well,  have  a  dangerous  ending.  But 
I  am  always  ready  to  start,  confident  that  my  self- 
control  will  save  me  from  any  immediate  disaster. 
And  so  far  it  always  has. 

How  earnestly  Seraphine  sounded  her  warning.  I 
wrote  down  her  words  and  promised  to  heed  them: 
"Remember,  dear,  that  emotional  desire  deliberately 
aroused  in  'harmless  flirtations'  and  then  deliberately 
repressed  is  an  offense  against  womanhood,  a  menace 
to  the  health,  and  a  degradation  to  the  soul." 

Thursday  night. 

I  am  horribly  sad  tonight — lonely — discouraged. 
The  doctor  wants  to  know  about  my  married  life, 
about  my  husband.  Why  was  I  unhappy?  Why  is 
any  woman  unhappy?  Because  her  love  is  trampled 
on,  degraded — the  spiritual  part  of  it  unsatisfied. 
Women  are  made  for  love  and  without  love  life  means 
nothing  to  them.  Women  are  naturally  finer  than  men, 
they  aspire  more  strongly  to  what  is  beautiful  and 
spiritual,  but  their  souls  can  be  coarsened,  their  love 
can  be  killed.  They  can  be  driven — they  have  been 
driven  for  centuries  (through  fear  of  men)  into  lies 
and  deceits  and  sensuality  or  pretence  of  sensuality. 

The  great  tragedy  of  the  world  is  sensuality,  and  it 
may  exist  between  man  and  wife  just  as  much  as 
between  a  man  and  a  paid  woman.  I  don't  know 
whether  the  Bible  condemns  sensuality  between  man 
and  wife,  but  it  ought  to.  I  remember  a  story  by 


24  POSSESSED 

Tolstoy  in  which  the  great  moralist  strips  off  our  mask 
of  hypocrisy  and  shows  the  hideous  evil  that  results 
when  a  man  and  a  woman  degrade  the  holy  sacrament 
of  marriage.  That  is  not  love,  but  a  perversion  of 
love.  How  can  God  bless  a  union  in  which  the  wife 
is  expected  to  conduct  herself  like  a  wanton  or  lose  her 
husband?  And  she  loses  him  anyway,  for  sensuality 
in  a  man  inevitably  leads  him  to  promiscuousness.  I 
know  this  to  my  sorrow ! 

Perhaps  I  am  morbid.  Perhaps  I  see  life  too  clearly, 
know  it  too  well.  I  do  not  want  to  be  cynical  or  bitter. 
Oh,  if  only  those  old  days  of  faith  and  trust  could 
come  back  to  me !  When  I  think  of  what  I  was  before 
I  married  Julian  I  see  that  I  was  almost  like  a  child  in 

my  ignorance  of  the  animal  side  of  man's  nature.  .  .  . 

*  * 

* 

Friday. 

Dr.  Owen  thinks  my  trouble  is  shell  shock,  but  he 
is  mistaken.  I  have  taken  care  of  too  many  shell  shock 
cases  not  to  recognize  the  symptoms.  Can  I  ever  for 
get  that  darling  soldier  boy  from  Maryland  who  mis 
took  me  for  his  mother?  "They're  coming!  They're 
coming!"  he  screamed  one  night;  you  could  hear  him 
all  over  the  hospital.  Then  he  jumped  out  of  bed  like 
a  wild  man — it  took  two  orderlies  and  an  engineer  to 
get  him  back  under  the  covers.  I  can  see  his  poor 
wasted  face  when  the  little  doctor  came  to  give  him  a 
hypodermic.  There  he  lay  panting,  groaning:  "Oh 
those  guns!  Oh  those  guns!  They  break  my  ears!" 
Then  he  sprang  up  again,  his  eyes  starting  out  of  his 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL     25 

head:  "Look  out,  there!  On  the  ammunition  cart! 
Look  out,  Bill!  Oh  my  God,  they've  got  Bill — my 
pal!  Blown  him  to  hell !  Oh,  oh,  oh!"  and  he  put  his 
head  down  and  sobbed  like  a  woman.  That  is  shell 
shock.  I  have  nothing  like  that.  I  know  what  I  am 
doing. 


There  was  a  storm  today  with  great  crashing  waves, 
then  everything  grew  calm  under  a  golden  sunset.  I 
take  this  as  a  good  omen.  I  feel  happier  already. 
The  infinite  peace  of  Nature  is  quieting  my  soul.  I 
love  the  sea.  I  can  almost  say  my  prayers  to  the  sea. 


Saturday. 

The  swimming  master  pays  me  extravagant  compli 
ments  every  morning  when  I  splash  about  in  the  pool. 
I  know  my  body  is  beautiful.  Thank  God,  I  have 
never  imprisoned  it  in  corsets. 

I  love  the  exercises  I  do  in  my  room  every 
morning.  They  bring  back  the  play  spirit  of  my  child 
hood.  When  I  get  out  of  bed  I  slip  into  a  loose  gar 
ment,  then  I  lie  on  the  floor  and  stretch  my  spine  along 
the  carpet — it's  wonderful  how  this  exhilarates  one. 
After  that  I  take  deep  breaths  at  the  open  window, 
raising  and  lowering  my  arms — up  as  I  draw  my 
breath  in,  down  as  I  throw  it  out.  Then  I  lie  down 
again  and  lift  my  legs  straight  up,  the  right,  the  left, 
then  ooth  together.  I  do  this  twenty  times,  resting  be 
tween  changes  and  taking  deep  breaths. 


26  POSSESSED 

I  sit  cross-legged  on  the  floor  with  my  feet  on  a  red 
and  gold  cushion  and  rotate  my  waist  like  an  oriental 
dancer.  I  stand  on  my  head  and  hands  and  curve 
my  body  to  right  and  left  in  graceful  flexings.  I  do 
this  no  matter  how  cold  it  is.  I  do  not  feel  the  cold, 
for  I  am  all  aglow  with  health  and  strength.  Then, 
before  my  bath,  I  do  dumb-bell  exercises  in  front  of 
the  mirror. 

I  remember  dining  with  my  husband  one  night  in  a 
pink  lace  peignoir — we  had  been  married  about  three 
years — and  during  the  dessert,  I  excused  myself  and 
went  into  my  bedroom  and,  posing  before  a  cheval 
glass,  I  let  the  peignoir  slip  off  my  shoulders,  and 
stood  there  like  a  piece  of  polished  marble,  rejoicing 
in  my  youth  and  loveliness ! 

How  I  hated  my  husband  that  night!  He  had 
taught  me  to  drink.  He  had  made  me  sensual.  He 
had  not  yet  assumed  the  coarse,  red-faced  brutish  as 
pect  that  he  wore  later,  but  he  had  a  coarse,  red-faced 
brutish  soul.  Alas !  his  body  was  still  fine  enough  to 
tempt  me.  And  his  mind  was  devilishly  clever  enough 
to  captivate  my  fancy.  He  took  away  my  faith,  even 
my  faith  in  motherhood.  That  was  why  I  chiefly  hated 
him. 

For  three  years  my  husband  disgusted  me  with  his 
unfaithfulness.  No  woman  was  too  high  or  too  low, 
too  refined  or  too  ignorant,  for  his  passing  fancy,  if 
only  she  had  physical  attractiveness — just  a  little  physi 
cal  attractiveness.  Anything  for  variety,  shop  girl  or 
duchess,  kitchen  maid  or  society  leader,  they  were  all 
the  same  to  Julian.  He  confessed  to  me  that  he  once 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL     27 

made  love  to  a  little  auburn-haired  divorcee  while  they 
were  in  a  mourning  carriage  going  to  her  sister's  fu 
neral.  Et  elle  s'est  laissee  faire! 

He  was  like  a  hunter  following  his  prey,  like  an 
angler  fishing,  he  cared  only  for  the  chase,  for  the 
capture.  That  was  the  man  I  had  married! 

What  a  liar  he  was!  He  poisoned  my  mind  with 
his  lies,  assuring  me  that  all  men  were  like  himself, 
hypocrites,  incapable  of  being  true  to  one  woman.  And 
I  believed  him.  The  ghastly  part  of  it  is  I  still  believe 
him.  I  can't  help  it.  I  have  suffered  too  much.  I  can 
never  have  faith  in  another  man,  not  even  in  Captain 
Herrick.  That  is  why  I  shall  never  marry  again — 

that  is  one  reason. 

*  * 

* 

Sunday. 

A  wonderful  day !  I  strolled  along  the  board  walk 
in  my  new  furs,  and  met  a  young  mother  pushing  a 
baby  carriage  with  two  splendid  baby  boys — one  of 
them  sucking  at  his  bottle.  Such  babies !  She  let  me 
hold  the  little  fellow  and  I  cuddled  him  close  in  my 
arms  and  felt  his  soft  cheeks  and  his  warm  little  chubby 
hands  on  my  face.  How  I  long  for  a  baby  of  my  own ! 
I  have  thought — hoped — dreamed 

I  went  to  the  movies  this  evening  with  some  friends 
and  laughed  so  hard  that  I  thought  I  would  break 
something  in  my  internal  machinery. 

When  I  returned  to  the  hotel  I  found  a  letter  from 
Captain  Herrick — so  manly  and  affectionate.  He  loves 
me !  And  I  love  him,  more  than  anything  in  the  world. 


28  POSSESSED 

I  feel  so  well  today,  so  glad  to  be  alive  that  if  Chris 
were  here,  I  think  I  would  promise  him  whatever  he 
asked.  I  long  to  give  myself  entirely — my  beauty,  my 
passion,  everything — to  this  man  that  I  love. 

And  yet — alas! 

Am  I  bold  and  vain  to  call  myself  beautiful? 


I  find  myself  in  my  diary  siding  strongly  with  women 
against  men  in  anything  that  has  to  do  with  emotional 
affairs,  although  I  like  men  better  than  women.  My 
tendency  is  always  to  blame  the  man.  This  is  partly 
because  of  the  hideous  wrong  that  was  done  me  by 
my  husband  and  partly  because  I  like  to  believe  that, 
however  blame-worthy  women  are  in  the  sex  struggle 
and,  whatever  faiblesses  they  may  be  guilty  of,  the 
fundamental  cause  of  it  all  must  be  found  in  centuries 
of  men's  wickedness  and  oppression. 

I  have  written  about  this  with  much  feeling.  In  one 
place  I  say: 

"Sometimes  I  feel  as  if  there  were  a  conspiracy  of 
men — all  kinds  of  men,  including  the  most  serious  and 
respectable — against  the  virtue  of  attractive  women. 
What  a  downfall  of  masculine  reputations  there  would 
be  if  women  should  tell  a  little  of  what  they  know 
about  men !  Only  a  little !  But  women  are  silent  in 
the  main — through  loyalty  or  through  fear." 

And  again: 

"What  happens  to  an  attractive  woman  who  is 
forced  to  earn  her  own  living?  In  the  business 
world?  In  the  artistic  world?  Anywhere?  I  do 


.WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL     29 

not  say  that  men  are  a  pack  of  wolves,  but — I 
had  such  a  heart-breaking  experience,  especially  in 
my  brief  musical  career.  I  might  have  had  a  small 
part  in  grand  opera  at  the  Metropolitan  Opera  House, 
New  York  City,  so  one  particular  musical  wolf  assured 
me,  if  I  would  show  a  little  sympathy  with  his  desire 
to  assist  me  in  some  of  the  roles — occasional  private 
rehearsals,  and  so  on.  Oh,  the  beast!  .  .  .  He  gave 
the  part  to  another  girl  (her  voice  did  not  compare 
with  mine)  who  was  less  particular,  and  she  made 
her  debut  the  next  season.  I  went  to  work  at  Wana- 
maker's  store!" 

And  still  men  pursued  me. 

I  find  this  entry: 

"Roberta  took  me  to  dinner  yesterday  at  the  Lafa 
yette  with  her  friend  Mr.  G ,  a  man  of  sixty,  red- 
faced,  fat  and  prosperous,  the  breezy  Westerner  type. 
He  is  giving  a  grand  party  at  Sherry's  and  wants  me 
to  come.  I  said  I  was  afraid  I  couldn't,  my  real  rea 
son  being  that  I  have  no  dress  that  is  nice  enough.  He 
said  nothing  at  the  time,  but  kept  his  eyes  on  me, 
and  this  evening,  when  I  got  home,  there  was  a  per 
fectly  stunning  dinner  gown — it  must  have  cost  $250. 

— with  a  note  from  Mr.  G- begging  me  to  ^accept 

it  as  I  would  a  flower,  since  it  meant  absolutely  noth 
ing  to  him. 

"How  I  longed  to  keep  that  gown!  I  think  I 
should  have  kept  it  if  Seraphine  had  not  happened  in. 

'  'Isn't  this  lovely?'  I  said,  holding  it  up.  'Do  you 
think  I  can  accept  it?'  Then  I  told  her  what  Mr. 
G had  said. 


30  POSSESSED 

"She  looked  at  me  out  of  her  kind,  wise  eyes. 

"'Do  you  like  him?' 

"  'Well— rather.' 
'  'Is  he  married  or  unmarried?' 

"  'I  think  he's  married.' 
''Is  he  the  man  who  gave  Roberta  her  sables?' 

"'Y-yes,'   I   admitted. 

"She  looked  at  me  again. 

'  'I  can't  decide  for  you,  Pen ;  you  must  settle  it 
with  your  own  conscience ;  but  I  am  sure  of  one  thing, 
that,  if  you  accept  this  dress,  you  will  pay  for  it,  and 
probably  pay  much  more  than  it  is  worth.' 

"It  ended  in  my  sending  the  gown  gack  and  missing 

the   dinner  party,   which  made   Mr.   G furious, 

he  blamed  Roberta  for  my  resistance,  and  a  little  later 
he  threw  her  over.  Like  most  men  of  that  type  who 
promise  women  wonderful  things,  he  was  hard,  sel 
fish  and  exacting — a  cold-blooded  sensualist.  And 
poor  Roberta,  indolent  and  luxurious,  ;was  'obliged 
to  go  back  to  work — up  at  seven  and  on  her  feet  all 
day  for  twenty  dollars  a  week.  She  had  been  spend 
ing  twenty  dollars  a  day! 

"What  is  a  woman  to  conclude  from  all  this?" 
I  wrote  despairingly.  "I  know  there  are  decent 
men  in  the  world;  there  are  employers  who  would 
never  think  of  becoming  unduly  interested  in  their 
good-looking  women  assistants,  who  would  never 
intimate  that  they  had  any  claim  upon  the  evenings 
of  pretty  stenographers  or  secretaries;  there  are  law 
yers  who  would  never  force  odious  attentions  upon 
<m  attractive  woman  whose  divorce  case  they  might 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL    31 

be  handling — 'Dear  lady,  how  about  a  little  din 
ner  and  a  cabaret  show  tonight?' — There  are  old 
friends  of  the  family,  serious  middle-aged  men  who 
would  never  take  advantage  of  a  young  woman's 
weakness  or  distress;  but,  oh  dear  God!  there  are 
so  many  others  who  have  no  decency,  no  heart!  A 
woman  is  desperate  and  must  confide  in  someone.  She 
has  lost  her  position  and  is  struggling  to  find  another. 
She  craves  innocent  pleasure — music,  the  theatre,  the 
dance.  She  is  so  horribly  lonely.  Help  me,  counsel 
me,  she  pleads  to  some  man  whom  she  trusts — any 
man,  the  average  man.  Does  he  help  her?  Yes,  on 
one  condition,  that  she  use  her  power  as  a  woman. 
Not  otherwise.  This  is  a  great  mystery  to  women — 
how  men,  who  are  naturally  kind,  can  be  so  cruel,  so 
persistent,  so  infernally  clever  in  forcing  women  to, 
use  their  power  for  their  own  undoing." 


Tuesday. 

Here  is  an  interesting  thing  that  Kendall  Brown 
once  said  on  this  subject — I  recorded  it  in  my  diary 
along  with  other  sayings  of  this  erratic  Greenwich 
Village  poet  and  philosopher: 

''The  sex  power  of  women  is  the  most  formidable 
power  ever  loosed  upon  earth,"  he  declared  one  eve 
ning.  "Thrones  totter  before  it.  Captains  of  industry 
forget  their  millions  in  its  presence.  Cherchez  la  fem- 
mel  This  terrible  power  is  possessed  by  every  dark- 
eyed  siren  in  a  Second  Avenue  boarding  house,  by 
every  languishing,  red-lipped  blonde  earning  eighteen 


32  POSSESSED 

dollars  a  week  in  a  department  store.  And  she  knows 
it!  Others  have  vast  earthly  possessions,  stores  of 
science,  palaces  of  art,  knowledge  without  end — she 
has  a  tresor  that  makes  baubles  of  these — she  is  the 
custodian  of  life,  she  has  the  eternal  life  power." 

How  true  that  is  I 

Again  I  wrote: 

"It  may  be  argued  that  women  are  willing  victims  of 
this  man  conspiracy,  I  say  no!  Every  woman  in  her 
heart  longs  to  love  one  man,  to  give  herself  to  one 
man,  to  be  true  to  one  man.  Even  the  unfortunate  in 
the  streets,  if  she  receives  just  a  little  kindness,  if  she 
has  only  half  a  chance  and  is  encouraged  to  right  living 
by  some  decent  fellow,  will  go  through  fire  and  water 
to  show  her  gratitude  and  devotion.  But  men  give 
women  no  chance.  They  pluck  the  roses  in  the  garden 
and  trample  them  under  foot.  Here  is  the  great 
tragedy  of  modern  life — men  wish  to  change  from  one 
woman  to  another,  whereas  women  do  not  wish  to 
change.  A  characteristic  sex  difference  between  men 
and  women  is  that  men  are  naturally  promiscuous,  but 
women  abhor  the  thought  of  promiscuousness." 


*  * 


Sunday. 

A  wave  of  repulsion  runs  over  me  as  I  quickly  turn 
the  pages  of  my  life  with  Julian.  And  then  a  faint 
.whisper  comes  to  me:  "The  truth,  you  have  promised 
to  tell  it — at  least  to  your  own  soul." 

The  truth! 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL     33 

Slowly  I  turn  back  to  what  I  wrote  in  those  unhappy 
days: 

"Why  do  I  live  with  him?  I  no  longer  love  him. 
At  times  I  despise  him  and  his  slightest  touch  makes 
me  shiver  with  disgust,  yet  I  continue  to  endure  this 
life — why? 

"It  is  because  of  the  great  pity  I  have  for  him.  He 
is  weak  and  helpless,  almost  child-like  in  his  dependence 
on  me.  I  am  the  prop  which  holds  up  the  last  shreds 
of  his  self-respect.  If  I  left  him,  he  would  drift  lower 
and  lower,  I  know  it.  Sometimes  I  pass  some  awful 
creature  staggering  along  the  sidewalks.  He  is  dirty 
and  uncared  for.  Long  matted  hair  falls  across  his 
bleared  and  sunken  eyes.  I  say  to  myself:  'But  for 
you,  Penelope  Wells,  that  might  be  Julian.'  And 
this  gives  me  courage  to  take  up  my  burden  once  more." 


And  again  I  find: 

"I  am  beginning  to  fear.  I  have  been  looking  in 
my  mirror  and  it  seems  to  me  that  my  face  is  taking 
on  the  lines  of  animalism  that  I  see  daily  becoming 
deeper  in  Julian's  face.  Must  I  continue  this  degra 
dation?  If  I  were  helping  him  to  raise  himself — but 
I  am  not,  not  really.  It's  too  heavy  a  weight  for  me 
to  bear.  I  am  sinking  .  .  .  sinking  to  his  level.  I 
cannot  stand  it.  It  is  killing  me.  .  .  . 


And  again: 

"I  am  too  heartsick  to  write. 


34  POSSESSED 

"I  began  this  a  week  ago  in  agony  of  soul  when 
I  tried  to  set  down  my  feelings  about  a  horrible  night 
with  Julian,  but  I  could  not.  He  has  been  drinking 
— drinking  for  weeks — neglecting  his  business,  break 
ing  all  his  promises  to  me.  What  can  I  do?  How 
can  I  help  him,  strengthen  him,  keep  him  from  doing 
some  irrevocable  thing  that  will  utterly  destroy  our 
home  and  make  me  lose  him?  In  spite  of  his  weak 
ness,  his  neglect,  his  faithlessness,  I  cannot  bear  the 
thought  of  losing  him.  My  pride  is  involved  and — 
and  something  else! 

"He  had  not  come  home  for  dinner  that  night  and 
it  was  ten  o'clock  when  I  heard  the  door  slam.  Julian 
came  into  the  living  room  and  as  soon  as  I  saw  him 
my  heart  sank.  He  dropped  into  a  chair  without 
speaking. 

"  'Tired,  dear?'  I  said,  trying  to  smile  a  welcome. 
'  'Dead  beat,'  he  sighed  and  stared  moodily  into 
the  fire. 

"I  went  to  him  and  rested  my  hand  lightly  on  his 
head  and  smoothed  back  his  hair  as  he  liked  me  to 
do.  He  jerked  away. 

'Wish  you'd  let  me  alone,'  he  muttered  fretfully. 

"I  drew  back,  knowing  what  this  irritability  meant, 
and  we  sat  in  silence  gazing  into  the  glowing  ashes. 
His  fingers  beat  a  nervous  tattoo  against  the  chair  and 
presently,  with  some  mumbled  words,  he  rose  and 
moved  towards  the  door.  Now  I  knew  the  fight  was 
on,  the  fight  with  the  Demon,  drink,  that  was  drawing 
him  away  from  me.  I  followed  him  into  the  hall. 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL    35 

'  'Don't  go,'   I  pleaded,  but  he  pushed  my  hand 
from  the  door-knob. 

'  Til  be  back  soon,'  he  said,  reaching  for  his  hat. 
'Wait!'  I  whispered.     Deep  within  I  breathed  a 
prayer:  'Brave  heart,  have  courage;  nimble  wit,  be 
alert;  warm,  white  body  hold  him  fast.' 

"  'Come  back  .  .  .  before  the  fire  ...  I  want  to 
talk  to  you,'  I  leaned  against  him  caressingly,  but  I 
could  feel  no  response  as  I  nestled  closer. 

'  'Don't  you  care  for  me  any  more?'  I  questioned 
tenderly. 

"He  was  still  unyielding,  his  brain  was  busy  with 
the  thought  of  the  brown  liquor  that  his  whole  sys 
tem  craved.  Purposely  I  drew  back  my  flowing 
sleeve  and  placed  my  warm  flesh  against  his  face. 
He  turned  to  his  old  seat  before  the  fire. 

"  'All  right,  I'll  stay  for  ten  minutes  ...  if  what 
you  say  is  important.' 

"When  he  was  once  more  comfortable,  I  brought  a 
cushion  to  his  chair  and  snuggled  down  at  his  feet, 
with  my  head  resting  against  him.  I  drew  his  half 
reluctant  hand  around  my  throat,  then  I  exerted  every 
part  of  my  brain  force  ...  to  hold  him.  Cease 
lessly  I  talked  of  our  old  days  together — camping 
trips  to  the  Northern  woods  of  Canada,  wonderful 
weeks  of  idling  down  the  river  in  our  launch,  days  of 
ideal  happiness,  spent  together.  I  appealed  to  his 
love  for  me,  his  old  love,  and  the  memory  of  our 
early  married  life.  He  was  unresponsive,  and  I  could 
feel  the  restlessness  of  his  fingers  in  my  hair. 

"Presently  he  pushed  me  aside,  not  ungently  this- 


36  POSSESSED 

time  but,  nevertheless,  firmly.  Once  more  the  struggle 
began,  and  now  I  must  rely  on  the  old  physical  lure 
to  hold  him.  .  .  .  Well,  I  won.  I  kept  him  with  me 
but  was  it  worth  such  a  sacrifice?  As  I  think  .  .  . 
I  burn  with  shame." 

There  are  many  entries  in  my  diary  like  this,  for 
my  life  with  Julian  was  full  of  scenes  when  I  tried 

so  hard  ...  so  hard  ...  all  in  vain! 

*  * 

* 

Here  is  another  picture: 

"Last  night  Julian  came  home  in  a  hilarious  mood. 
His  habitual  sullen  look  had  gone  and  he  almost 
seemed  the  man  who  had  won  me — before  I  knew  him 
as  he  really  is. 

"  'Come  along,  Penny,'  he  laughed  as  he  caught  me 
in  his  arms.  'We're  going  to  celebrate.  Dress  up  in 
that  lacy  black  thing — you  are  seduction  itself  in  it.' 

"His  praise  made  me  happy  and,  responding  to 
his  mood,  I  changed  my  clothes  quickly,  and  we  set 
forth  joyfully  in  anticipation  of  a  pleasant  evening. 

"Everything  went  well  through  the  dinner,  although 
I  hesitated  when  Julian  ordered  wine;  but  I  was  afraid 
to  oppose  him  or  to  speak  a  single  jarring  word. 

"  'Drink  up,  Penny,  and  have  some  more.  My  God, 
but  you  are  glorious  tonight!'  he  whispered  as  he 
leaned  across  the  table. 

"I  smiled  and  emptied  my  glass,  and  soon  I  became 
as  reckless  and  jovial  as  he.  We  went  from  one  caba 
ret  to  another,  laughing  at  everything.  All  the  world 
was  gay.  There  was  no  sorrow  anywhere — only  one 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL    37 

grand  celebration.  Julian  was  never  so  fascinating. 
I  was  proud  of  his  good  looks,  of  his  wit,  of  his 
strength  as  he  lifted  me  from  the  taxicab  and  almost 
carried  me  into  the  house. 

"  'My  darling!'  I  breathed  as  my  lips  brushed  his 
cheek,  'I  love  you!' 

"  'You  see,  Penny,  how  wonderful  everything  is 
when  you  are  reasonable.  If  you  will  only  drink  with 
me  once  in  a  while,  I'll  never,  never  leave  you.' 

"He  placed  me  gently  in  a  chair.  Soon  the  room 
began  to  whirl  around  .  .  .  and  I  knew  no  more.  .  .  . 

"This  morning  my  head  ached  and  a  thousand 
needles  were  piercing  my  eyes.  I  rang  for  the  maid 
and  asked  for  my  husband. 

'  'He  brought  you  home  last  night,  but  he  went  out 
again  later  and  he  hasn't  come  back,'  she  said  and  her 
eyes  did  not  meet  mine. 

"'Was  I — was  I?'  I  stammered,  shame  possessing 
me. 

"  'Yes,  Mrs.  Wells,  you  were.  .  .  .' 

"God!  What  have  I  gained?  I  have  degraded 
myself  without  doing  Julian  any  good.  I  have  sunk 
to  his  level  and  have  not  even  been  able  to  keep  him 
at  my  side.  I  hate  him!  I  hate  myself  even  more!" 


I  find  a  pitiful  entry  that  I  made  only  a  few  months 
before  Julian  was  killed.  In  a  fit  of  anger  he  had  left 
me,  accusing  me  of  being  a  drag  on  his  life,  saying 
that  I  was  to  blame  for  all  his  follies.  He  was  going 


215199 


3  8  POSSESSED 

to  be  rid  of  me  now.  So  he  took  all  the  money  in  the 
house  and  went  off — I  should  never  see  him  again.  At 
last  I  had  what  I  had  longed  for,  my  freedom,  he  had 

given  it  to  me,  flung  it  in  my  face.     And  then 

This  is  what  I  wrote  six  weeks  later: 
"Well,  I'm  a  failure  all  right.  Never  again  may  I 
think  well  of  myself  or  feel  that  I  am  entitled  to  the 
joys  of  life.  For  I'm  just  a  plain  moral  coward.  I 
couldn't  even  keep  what  was  forced  on  me — my  liberty. 
"Last  Wednesday  he  came  back,  such  a  miserable 
wreck  of  a  man,  so  utterly  broken  in  every  way  that 
it  would  have  moved  a  heart  of  stone.  Inside  of  me 
is  a  sorrow  too  deep  for  expression,  but  somehow  a 
peace  also.  Now  I  am  sure  that  my  bondage  will 
never  cease.  But  I  couldn't  refuse  to  take  Julian  back 
when  I  saw  what  a  state  he  was  in.  His  spiritual 
abasement  was  such  an  awful  thing  that  I  could  not 
shame  him  by  even  letting  him  know  that  I  understood 
it." 


Monday. 

I  walked  for  hours  beside  the  ocean,  watching  the 
waves,  the  sky,  the  soaring  gulls, — trying  to  tire  my 
self  out,  searching  into  my  heart  for  the  truth  about 
my  life — about  my  illness.  I  cannot  find  the  truth. 
I  have  done  what  Dr.  Owen  told  me  to  do  as  well 
as  I  cam  and — I  do  not  see  that  any  good  has  come 
of  it.  I  have  stirred  up  ghosts  of  the  past — leering 
ghosts,  and  I  hate  them.  I  am  sick  of  ignoble  mem 
ories.  I  want  to  close  forever  the  door  on  those  un- 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL    39 

happy  years.     I  want  to  be  well,  to  live  a  sane  life, 

to  have  a  little  pleasure ;  but  .  .  . 

*  * 


Thursday. 

I  am  tired  of  Atlantic  City.  I  am  going  back  to 
New  York  tomorrow.  No  doubt  I  have  benefited  by 
these  days  of  rest  and  change.  My  bad  dreams  are 
gone  and  I  have  only  heard  the  Voices  once.  Dr. 
Owen  will  say  that  his  prescription  has  been  efficacious, 
but  that  is  not  true.  I  know  They  are  waiting  for  me 
in  the  city,  waiting  to  torture  me.  Then  why  do  I  go 
back?  Because  it  is  my  fate.  I  am  driven  on  by  some 
power  beyond  my  control — driven  on ! 

Penelope  will  cross  the  ocean.  Her  husband  will 
die  very  soon.  There  will  be  war  soon.  She  will  go 
to  the  war  and  honors  will  be  conferred  upon  her  on 
the  battlefields.  Then  she  will  go  down  to  horror — to 
terror! 

How  that  prophecy  of  Seraphine  haunts  me!  All 
of  it  has  come  true  except  the  very  last.  Horror! 
Terror!  These  two  are  ever  before  me.  These  two 
already  encompass  me.  These  two  will  presently  over 
whelm  me  unless — unless — I  don't  know  what. 

Seraphine  is  in  New  York,  I  have  meant  to  go  to 
see  her,  but — I  am  afraid,  I  am  afraid  of  what  she 
will  tell  me ! 

New  York,  Saturday. 

I  must  set  down  here — to  ease  my  tortured  brain — 
some  of  the  things  that  have  happened  to  me  since  I 
last  wrote  in  this  book,  my  confessional. 


40  POSSESSED 

When  I  got  back  to  town  I  found  an  invitation  to 
go  to  a  Bohemian  ball,  and  I  decided  to  accept.  Five 
la  joief  So  I  put  on  a  white  dress  and  went  with 
Roberta  Vallis  and  that  ridiculous  poet  Kendall  Brown. 
It  was  the  first  time  I  had  danced  since  my  husband 
died  and  I  enjoyed  it. 

Such  a  ball!  They  called  it  a  Pagan  Revel  and  it 
was!  Egyptian  costumes  and  a  Russian  orchestra. 
Some  of  the  Egyptian  slave  maidens  were  dressed 
mostly  in  brown  paint.  Kendall  says  he  helped  dress 
them  at  the  Liberal  Club.  Good  heavens !  Kendall's 
pose  of  lily  white  virtue  amuses  me.  He  went  as  a 
cave  man  with  a  leopard  skin  over  his  shoulders,  and 
I  danced  with  him  two  or  three  times.  His  talk  re 
minds  me  of  Julian.  How  well  I  know  the  methods 
of  these  sentimental  pirates!  What  infinite  patience 
and  adroitness  they  use  in  leading  the  talk  towards 
dangerous  ground !  How  seriously  they  begin !  With 
what  sincerity  and  ingenuous  frankness  they  proceed, 
and  all  the  time  they  know  exactly  what  they  are  doing, 
exactly  what  effects  they  are  producing  in  a  woman. 

Kendall  spoke  of  the  modern  dance  in  a  detached, 
intellectual  way.  He  dwelt  on  one  particular  develop 
ment  in  the  fox  trot — had  I  noticed  it? — there!  that 
naval  officer  and  the  languishing  blonde  were  doing 
it  now — which  seemed  to  him  unaesthetic.  It  might 
be  harmful  in  some  cases,  say  to  a  Class  A  woman. 
Being  curious,  I  asked  what  he  meant  by  a  "Class  A" 
woman  and  this  gave  Kendall  his  opportunity  to  dis 
course  on  fundamental  differences  that  exist  among 
women,  so  he  declares.  I  wish  I  knew  if  what  he  says 


WHAT  PENELOPE  COULD  NOT  TELL      41 

is  true.  He  assures  me  he  has  it  on  the  authority  of 
a  Chicago  specialist,  but  I  never  put  much  dependence 
on  anything  that  Kendall  Brown  says.  If  this  is  true 
the  whole  romantic  history  of  the  world  will  have  to 
be  rewritten  and  the  verdicts  of  numberless  juries  in 
murder  trials  passionels  ought  to  be  set  aside. 

The  statement  is  that  physical  desire  is  universal 
among  men,  but  not  among  women.  One-third  of  all 
women,  Kendall  puts  them  in  Class  C,  have  no  such  de 
sire;  therefore,  they  deserve  no  particular  credit  for  re 
maining  virtuous.  Another  third  of  all  women  are  in 
Class  B,  the  normal  class,  where  this  desire  is  or  is  not 
present,  according  to  circumstances.  The  last  third  of 
all  women  make  up  Class  A,  and  these  women,  being 
as  strongly  tempted  as  men  (or  more  so),  are  con 
demned  to  the  same  struggles  that  men  experience, 
and,  if  they  happen  to  be  beautiful,  and  without  deep 
spirituality,  they  are  fated  to  have  emotional  experi 
ences  that  may  make  them  great  heroines  or  artists, 
great  adventuresses  or  outcasts. 

I  am  sure  I  do  not  belong  in  Class  C,  I  hope  I  belong 
in  Class  B,  but  I  am  afraid 


*  * 


I  knew  They  were  waiting  for  me.  Last  night  I 
beard  Them  again — after  the  ball.  It  was  a  horrible 
night!  I  shall  r/rite  to  Dr.  Owen  that  I  must  see  him 
at  once. 


CHAPTER  III 

A  BOWL  OF  GOLD  FISH 

(A  letter  from  Penelope) 

New  York,  February  — . 

DEAR  Dr.  Owen : 

Did  you  think  I  had  vanished  from  the  earth?  1 
know  I  ought  to  have  reported  to  you  a  week  ago 
but — I  fear  Penelope  Wells  is  an  unreliable  person, 
Forgive  me !  I  am  in  great  distress. 

I  will  say,  first,  that  Atlantic  City  did  me  a  lot  oi 
good.  I  came  back  to  town  happier  than  I  have  been 
for  months,  in  fact  I  was  so  encouraged  that  I  decided 
to  amuse  myself  a  little,  as  you  advised.  Last  night 
I  went  to  a  rather  gay  ball  with  some  friends,  and  I 
was  beginning  to  think  myself  almost  normal,  when 
suddenly — alas ! 

I  had  a  strange  experience  this  morning  that  fright 
ens  me.  I  was  sitting  at  my  desk  writing  a  note  when 
I  glanced  towards  the  window  where  there  is  a  bowl 
of  gold  fish,  three  beautiful  fish  and  two  snails.  Il 
amuses  me  to  watch  them  sometimes.  Well,  as  I 
looked  up,  the  sunshine  was  flashing  on  the  little 
darting  creatures  and  I  felt  myself  drawn  to  the 
bowl,  and  for  two  or  three  minutes  I  stood  there  star 
ing  into  it  as  if  I  expected  to  see  something.  Then, 

42 


A  BOWL  OF  GOLD  FISH  43 

presently  I  did  see  something,  I  saw  myself  inside  the 
bowl — in  a  kind  of  vision.  I  saw  myself  just  as  dis 
tinctly  as  I  ever  saw  anything. 

In  order  that  you  may  understand  this,  doctor,  I 
must  explain  that  Captain  Herrick  took  me  home  from 
the  ball.  It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  we 
left  the  place  and  it  had  blown  up  cold  during  the  rain, 
so  that  the  streets  were  a  glare  of  ice  and  our  taxi  was 
skidding  horribly.  When  we  got  to  Twelfth  Street 
and  Fifth  Avenue  there  came  a  frightful  explosion; 
a  gas  main  had  taken  fire  and  flames  were  shooting 
twenty  feet  into  the  air.  I  was  terrified,  for  it  made 
me  think  of  Paris — the  air  raids,  the  night  sirens,  the 
long-distance  cannon.  Captain  Herrick  saw  that  I  was 
quite  hysterical  and  said  that  I  mustn't  think  of  going 
up  to  Eightieth  Street.  I  must  spend  the  night  at  his 
studio  in  Washington  Square,  only  a  few  doors  away, 
and  he  would  go  to  a  hotel.  I  agreed  to  this,  for  I  was 
nearly  frozen. 

When  we  entered  the  studio  I  was  surprised  to  find 
what  a  beautiful  place  it  was.  It  seems  that  Captain 
Herrick  has  rented  it  from  a  distinguished  artist. 
There  is  a  great  high  ceiling  and  a  wonderful  fireplace 
where  logs  were  blazing.  I  was  standing  before  this 
fireplace  trying  to  warm  myself,  when  there  came  a 
crash  overhead,  it  was  only  a  gas  fixture  that  had 
fallen,  but  it  seemed  to  me  the  whole  building  was 
coming  down.  I  almost  fainted  in  terror  and  Chris 
caught  me  in  his  arms,  trying  to  comfort  me.  Then, 
before  I  realized  what  he  was  doing,  he  had  drawn  me 
close  to  him  and  kissed  me. 


44  POSSESSED 

This  made  me  very  angry.  I  felt  that  he  had  no 
right  to  take  advantage  of  my  fright  in  this  way  and 
I  told  him  I  would  not  stay  in  his  studio  a  minute 
longer.  And  I  did  not.  I  almost  ran  down  the  stairs, 
then  out  into  the  street.  It  was  foolish  to  get  so  agi 
tated,  but  I  could  not  help  it.  I  went  over  to  the  Bre- 
voort  and  spent  the  night  there.  You  will  understand 
in  a  minute  why  I  am  telling  you  all  this,  it  has  to  do 
with  the  vision  that  I  saw  in  the  bowl  of  gold  fish. 

In  this  vision  I  saw  myself  enter  Captain  Herrick's 
studio  just  as  I  really  did — in  my  white  satin  dress. 
Christopher  was  with  me  in  his  uniform.  Then  I  saw 
myself  lying  on  a  divan  and — Chris  was  bending  over 
me,  kissing  me  passionately.  He  kissed  me  many 
times,  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  never  stop  kissing  me — 
in  the  vision.  All  this  was  as  clear  as  a  motion  picture. 
The  extraordinary  part  of  it  is,  that  I  neither  resisted 
him  nor  responded  in  any  way,  I  just  seemed  to  be 
lying  there — with  my  eyes  closed — as  if  I  were  asleep. 

I  am  very  much  distressed  about  this.  I  know  that 
I  did  not  really  lie  down  on  Captain  Herrick's  divan — 
I  would  not  have  done  such  a  thing  for  the  world.  I 
know  Captain  Herrick  did  not  really  kiss  me  in  that 
passionate  way,  as  I  saw  him  kiss  me  in  the  bowl  of 
gold  fish,  but  I  feel  that  he  did.  I  am  afraid  that  he 
did.  I  can't  get  over  the  feeling  that  he  did.  This 
sounds  like  madness,  doesn't  it?  A  woman  cannot  be 
ardently  kissed  by  a  man  without  knowing  it,  can  she? 
Perhaps  I  am  mad — perhaps  this  is  the  way  mad  peo 
ple  feel. 

Help  me,  doctor,  if  you  can,  and  above  all  please 


A  BOWL  OF  GOLD  FISH  45 

see  Captain  Herrick — he  is  an  old  friend  of  yours — 
and  find  out  exactly  what  I  did  at  his  studio.     I  must 
know  the  truth.    And  I  can't  ask  Chris,  can  I? 
Yours  in  anguish  of  soul, 

PENELOPE  WELLS. 

P.  S. — Please  telephone  me  as  soon  as  you  get  this 
and  make  an  appointment  to  see  me. 


CHAPTER  IV 

FIVE  PURPLE  MARKS 

DURING  his  thirty  years  of  medical  experience 
among  neurasthenic  and  hysterical  women,  Dr.  Wil 
liam  Owen  had  never  encountered  a  more  puzzling 
case  than  the  one  before  him  on  this  brisk  winter  morn 
ing  when  he  set  forth  to  answer  the  urgent  appeal  of 
Penelope  Wells.  Here  was  a  case  fated  to  be  written 
about  in  many  languages  and  discussed  before  learned 
societies.  A  Boston  psychologist  was  even  to  devote 
a  chapter  of  his  great  work  "Mysteries  of  the  Sub 
conscious  Mind"  to  the  hallucinations  of  Penelope 
W .  Poor  Penelope ! 

When  Dr.  Owen  entered  her  attractive  sitting  room 
with  its  prevailing  tone  of  blue,  he  found  his  fair  pa 
tient  reclining  on  a  chaise  tongue,  her  eyes  heavy  with 
anxiety. 

"It's  good  of  you  to  come,  doctor.  I  appreciate  it," 
she  gave  him  her  hand  gratefully.  "I  expected  to  go 
to  your  office,  but — something  else  has  happened  and 
I  am — discouraged."  Her  arm  fell  listlessly  by  her 
side.  "So  I  telephoned  you." 

"I  am  glad  to  come,  you  know  I  take  a  particular 
interest  in  you,"  he  smiled  cheerily  and  drew  up  a 
chair.  "We  must  expect  these  set-backs,  but  you  are 

46 


FIVE  PURPLE  MARKS  47 

improving.  You  show  it  in  your  face.  And  your  letter 
showed  it.  I  read  your  letter  carefully — studied  it 
and " 

"You  haven't  seen  Captain  Herrick?"  she  asked 
eagerly. 

"Not  yet.  I  have  asked  him  to  dine  with  me  this 
evening." 

Penelope  sighed  wearily  and  twined  her  fingers  to 
gether  in  nervous  agitation. 

"It's  all  so  distressing.  I  can't  understand  it.  Why 
did  I  see  myself  in  that  bowl  of  gold  fish,  so  distinctly? 
Tell  me — why?" 

"You  mustn't  take  that  seriously,  Mrs.  Wells. 
These  crystal  visions  are  common  enough — the  books 
are  full  of  them.  It's  a  phenomenon  of  self-hypno 
tism.  You  are  in  a  broken-down  nervous  condition 
after  months  of  excessive  strain — that's  all,  and  these 
hallucinations  result,  just  as  colored  shapes  and  pat 
terns  appear  when  you  shut  your  eyes  tight  and  press 
your  fingers  against  the  eye-balls." 

This  did  not  satisfy  her.  "What  I  want  to  know  is 
whether  there  is  any  possibility  that  I  really  did  what 
I  saw  myself  do  in  that  vision?  Do  you  think  there 
is?" 

"Certainly  not.  I  believe  you  did  exactly  what  you 
tell  me  you  did — you  spent  a  few  minutes  in  Christo 
pher's  studio  and  then  came  away  angry  because  he 
kissed  you.  By  the  way,  I  don't  see  why  one  kiss  from 
a  man  who  loves  you  and  has  asked  you  to  marry  him 
should  have  offended  you  so  terribly,  especially  when 
you  admit  that  you  care  for  him?" 


48  POSSESSED 

His  tone  was  one  of  good-humored  indulgence  for 
capricious  beauty,  but  Mrs.  Wells  kept  to  her  serious 
ness. 

"I  didn't  mean  that  I  was  really  angry  with  Captain 
Herrick.  I  was  angry  at  myself  for  the  thrill  of  joy 
I  felt  when  he  kissed  me  and  I  was  frightened  by  the 
wave  of  emotion  that  swept  over  me.  I  have  been 
frightened  all  these  days — even  now!"  She  covered 
her  eyes  with  her  hand  as  if  shrinking  from  some  pain 
ful  memory. 

"Please  don't  agitate  yourself.  You  must  not  get 
hysterical  about  this.  You  must  have  confidence  in  me 
and  in  your  own  powers  of  recuperation.  And  you 
must  be  sure  to  give  me  all  the  facts.  Did  I  under 
stand  you  to  say  that  something  else  has  happened — 
since  you  wrote  me?" 

"Yes,  something  quite  unbelievable — it  happened 
last  night." 

"Tell  me  about  it — quietly,  just  as  if  you  were  dis 
cussing  somebody  else." 

Penelope  smiled  wistfully.  "How  kind  and  wise 
you  are !  I  will  try  to  be  calm,  but — -it  is  hard  for  me. 
I  had  a  dream  last  night,  doctor,  and  this  dream  is 
true.  I  have  evidence  that  it  is  true.  I  did  something 
last  night  without  knowing  it,  and  then  I  dreamed 
about  it." 

"You  did  something  without  knowing  it?" 

"Yes.  I  put  on  a  red  dress  and  a  black  hat  that  I 
have  not  worn  for  four  years,  not  since  my  husband 
died.  For  four  years  I  have  only  worn  black  or 
white." 


FIVE  PURPLE  MARKS  49 

"Do  I  understand  you  to  say  that  you  put  on  these 
things  without  knowing  that  you  put  them  on  ?" 

"Yes." 

"How  do  you  know  you  did?" 

"My  maid  told  me  so.  You  see  my  dream  was  so 
extraordinarily  vivid — I'll  give  you  the  details  in  a 
minute — that,  as  soon  as  I  awakened,  I  rang  for  Jeanne ' 
and  questioned  her.  'Jeanne,'  I  said,  'you  know  the 
red  dress  that  I  have  not  worn  since  my  husband  died?' 
She  looked  at  me  in  a  queer  way  and  said:  'Madame 
is  laughing  at  me.  Madame  knows  quite  well  that  she 
wore  the  red  dress  last  night.'  Then  she  recalled 
everything  in  detail,  how  I  sent  her  to  a  particular  shelf 
where  this  dress  was  folded  away  and  got  her  to 
freshen  up  a  ribbon  and  press  the  skirt  where  it  was 
wrinkled.  Jeanne  is  also  positive  that  I  put  on  my 
black  hat.  Then,  she  says,  I  went  out;  I  left  the  house 
at  five  minutes  to  nine  and  came  back  about  eleven. 
There  is  no  doubt  about  it." 

"And  you  remember  nothing  of  all  this?" 

"Nothing.  So — so  you  see,"  she  faltered,  then  she 
leaned  impulsively  toward  the  doctor.  "As  an  expert 
will  you  please  tell  me  if  it  is  possible  for  a  woman  to 
act  like  that  unless  her  mind  is  affected?" 

Dr.  Owen  tried  to  take  this  lightly.  "I'm  a  fairly 
sane  citizen  myself,  but  if  you  asked  me  which  suit 
I  wore  yesterday,  I  couldn't  tell  you." 

"You  couldn't  suddenly  put  on  red  clothes  without 
knowing  it,  if  you  had  been  wearing  black  clothes  for 
years,  could. you?"  she  demanded. 

He  laughed.    "When  it  comes  to  clothes  I  might  do 


50  POSSESSED 

anything.  I  might  wear  a  straw  hat  in  January.  But 
I  couldn't  go  out  of  the  house  without  knowing  it.  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  you  don't  remember  going  out  of 
the  house  last  night?" 

"I  certainly  do  not.  I  remember  nothing  about  it. 
I  would  have  sworn  that  I  went  to  bed  early,"  she 
insisted. 

"Hm!     Have  you  any  idea  where  you  went?" 

"Yes — I  know  where  I  went,  but  I  only  know  this 
from  my  dream.  I  know  I  went  to  Captain  Herrick's 
studio.  You — you  can  ask  him." 

"Of  course.  You  haven't  asked  him  yourself — you 
haven't  telephoned,  have  you?" 

"No,  no !     I  would  be  ashamed  to  ask  him." 

The  doctor  noted  her  increasing  agitation  and  the 
flood  of  color  mounting  to  her  cheeks. 

"Steady  now!  Take  it  easy.  Have  you  any  idea 
what  you  did  at  the  studio,  assuming  that  you  really 
went  there?" 

Penelope  hesitated,  biting  her  lips.  "I  know  what 
I  saw  myself  do  in  the  dream.  I  acted  in  an  impossible 
way.  I — I — here  is  a  little  thing — you  know  I  never 
smoke,  but  in  the  dream  I  did  smoke." 

"Have  you  ever  smoked?" 

"Yes,  I  did  when  my  husband  was  living.  He  taught 
me.  He  said  I  was  a  better  sport  when  I  was  smoking 
a  cigarette." 

"But  you  haven't  smoked  since  your  husband's 
death?" 

"Not  at  all.  I  have  not  smoked  once  since  he  died, 
not  once — until  last  night." 


FIVE  PURPLE  MARKS  51 

The  man  of  science  eyed  her  searchingly.  "Mrs. 
Wells,  you  are  not  hiding  anything  from  me,  are  you?" 

"No  !  No  !  Of  course  not !  Don't  frown  at  me 
like  that — please  don't.  I  am  trying  my  best  to  tell 
you  the  truth.  I  know  these  things  did  not  happen, 
but " 

Here  her  self-control  left  her  and,  with  a  gesture 
of  despair,  Penelope  sank  forward  on  a  little  table 
beside  her  chair  and  sobbed  hysterically,  her  face  hid 
den  in  her  arms. 

"There!  There!"  soothed  Dr.  Owen.  "I  was  a 
brute.  I  have  taxed  you  beyond  your  strength." 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  grateful  I  am  for  your  patience 
and  sympathy,"  murmured  Penelope  through  her  tears, 
and,  presently,  regaining  her  composure,  she  continued 
her  confession. 

"I  want  you  to  know  everything — now.  In  my 
dream  there  was  a  scene  of  passion  between  Captain 
Herrick  and  myself.  He  held  me  in  his  arms  and 
kissed  me  and  I — I  responded.  We  both  seemed  to  be 
swept  on  by  a  reckless  madness  and  at  one  moment 
Chris  seized  me  roughly  with  his  hand  and — of  course 
you  think  this  is  all  an  illusion,  but — look  here!"  She 
threw  open  her  loose  garment  and  on  her  beautiful 
shoulder  pointed  to  five  perfectly  plain  purple  marks 
that  might  have  been  made  by  the  fingers  of  a  man's 
hand. 

"Extraordinary!"  muttered  the  doctor.  "Let  me 
look  at  this  closer.  Have  you  got  such  a  thing  as  a 
magnifying  glass?  Ah,  thank  you!" 


52  POSSESSED 

For  some  moments  he  silently  studied  these  strange 
marks  on  the  fair  young  bosom,  then  he  said  very 
gravely:  "Mrs.  Wells,  I  want  to  think  this  over  be 
fore  giving  an  opinion.  And  I  must  have  a  serious 
talk  with  Captain  Herrick." 


CHAPTER  V 

WHAT  REALLY  HAPPENED  AT  THE  STUDIO 

FOR  the  purposes  of  this  narrative,  which  is  con 
cerned  almost  exclusively  with  the  poignant  strange 
ness  of  a  woman's  experiences,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that 
Captain  Christopher  Herrick  was  what  is  generally 
known  as  a  fine  fellow — handsome,  modest,  well-to-do, 
altogether  desirable  as  a  lover  and  a  husband.  At 
thirty-five  he  had  made  for  himself  an  enviable  posi 
tion  as  a  New  York  architect,  one  who  was  able  to 
strike  out  boldly  in  new  lines  while  maintaining  a  rea 
sonable  respect  for  venerable  traditions.  He  had 
served  gallantly  in  the  war  and  he  was  now,  for  quite 
understandable  reasons,  desperately  in  love  with  Pene 
lope  Wells. 

On  this  particular  evening  when  Christopher  had 
been  summoned  by  his  much  respected  friend,  Dr. 
Owen,  to  dine  and  discuss  a  matter  of  immediate  im 
portance,  the  young  officer  had  accepted  eagerly.  For 
some  time  he  had  wanted  to  talk  with  the  doctor  about 
Penelope's  nervous  condition.  He  was  drawn  to  this 
girl  by  a  force  that  stirred  the  depths  of  his  being — 
he  could  not  live  without  her;  yet  his  love  was  clouded 
by  anxiety  at  her  strange  behavior. 

Christopher's  face  was  troubled.  His  brain  was  in 

53 


54  POSSESSED 

a  turmoil.  The  happenings  of  the  last  few  days  be 
wildered  him.  Life  had  seemed  so  simple,  so  beauti 
ful,  with  just  their  great  love  for  each  other  to  build 
on;  but  now.  .  .  .  He  was  only  sure  of  one  thing, 
that  from  the  moment  Penelope  Wells  had  come  to 
him  as  a  ministering  angel  across  the  scarred  and 
broken  battle  field,  he  had  adored  her  with  a  love  that 
would  endure  until  the  day  of  his  death  .  .  .  and,  he 
told  himself,  beyond  that! 

"Chris,  my  boy,"  began  Owen  in  his  bluff,  cheery 
way  when  they  had  retired  to  the  study  for  coffee  and 
cigars,  "I  am  in  a  difficulty,  I  must  ask  you  some  ques 
tions  that  may  embarrass  you — it's  the  only  way  out." 

Herrick's  clear,  honest  gaze  met  the  doctor's  eyes 
unflinchingly. 

"That's  all  right,  sir.  Go  ahead.  I  suppose  it's 
about  Mrs.  Wells?" 

"Yes.  I  am  very  much  interested  in  her  case,  not 
only  on  your  account,  but  because  she  is  a  wonderful 
woman.  When  I  write  your  father  I'll  tell  him  he's 
going  to  have  a  daughter-in-law  who  will  make  him  sit 
up  and  take  notice.  Ha,  ha!" 

The  young  man's  heavy  brows  contracted  gloomily. 

"I  wish  that  were  true,  sir,  but — you  know  what  I 
told  you?" 

"About  her  refusing  you?  Don't  worry  over  that. 
Just  wait  until  we  get  her  health  built  up  a  little." 

"Do  you  think  she  will  change  her  mind?  Did  she 
say  so?"  Herrick  asked  eagerly. 

"Pretty  nearly  that.  If  she  doesn't  marry  you,  she 
won't  marry  anyone.  The  fact  is — Mrs.  Wells  is  suf- 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  STUDIO      55 

faring  from  a  nervous  strain,  I'm  not  sure  what  it  is, 
but  there  are  abnormal  symptoms  and — I  hate  to  force 
your  confidence,  Chris,  but,  speaking  as  Mrs.  Wells' 
medical  adviser  and  a  mighty  good  friend  of  yours,  a 
sort  of  representative  of  your  father — you  know  how 
close  your  father  and  I  have  always  been?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know.    I'll  do  anything  you  say." 

"You  want  to  help  this  lovely  lady?  You  want  to 
make  her  happy?" 

"That's  what  I  want  more  than  anything  in  this 
world,"  the  officer's  grey  eyes  flashed  with  the  spirit 
of  a  lover  and  a  soldier. 

"Good.  Now  the  way  to  do  it  is — you  must  help 
her  by  helping  me.  I  think  I  understand  the  situation 
up  to  a  week  ago,  but  since  then — well,  it's  a  little 
complicated.  Mrs.  Wells  has  paid  you  two  visits  in 
the  last  few  days,  hasn't  she?" 

"Yes.     Did  she  tell  you?" 

"She  told  me  a  little.  Try  some  of  that  port,  Chris, 
and  light  another  cigar,"  the  older  man  said  genially. 
"We  may  as  well  be  comfortable.  There!  Now  tell 
me  about  Mrs.  Wells'  first  visit — after  the  dance?" 

At  this  invitation  the  young  officer  began  quite 
frankly  and  with  a  certain  sense  of  humor  to  describe 
the  circumstances  that  led  up  to  the  climax,  but  presently 
he  hesitated,  and,  observing  this,  Owen  said:  "No 
false  delicacy,  please.  It's  extremely  important  to  me 
as  a  doctor  to  know  everything  that  happened.  You 
say  Mrs.  Wells  came  in  chilled  and  frightened  and — 
then  what?" 

"Then  I  threw  a  couple  of  logs  on  the  fire  and  was 


5  6  POSSESSED 

just  going  to  get  her  some  brandy  against  the  cold  when 
there  came  an  awful  racket  overhead,  it  shook  the 
whole  place  and  Penelope  was  so  startled  that — just 
instinctively  I  put  my  arm  around  her.  She  clung  to 
me  and — I  tried  to  soothe  her  and  before  I  knew  it — 
I  couldn't  help  it — I  kissed  her." 

The  doctor  smiled.  "If  you  hadn't  kissed  her  under 
those  circumstances,  my  boy,  I  would  never  have  for 
given  you.  Perhaps  she  wouldn't  either.  Well?" 

"It's  going  to  be  pretty  tough,  sir,  to  tell  you — some 
of  this,"  stammered  Herrick,  frowning  at  the  carpet. 
"Penelope  got  awfully  angry  and  said  she  was  going 
to  leave.  I  apologized  and  tried  to  square  myself,  but 
she  wouldn't  have  it.  She  said  I  had  insulted  her  and 
she  refused  to  stay  in  my  place  another  minute.  I 
asked  her  to  wait  until  I  could  get  a  dry  coat  and 
umbrella  for  her  and  then  I  would  take  her  wherever 
she  wanted  to  go.  She  agreed  to  wait  and  I  went  into 
the  other  room." 

Christopher  paused  and  drew  his  chair  closer  to  the 
doctor. 

"Now  here  is  a  most  extraordinary  thing.  When 
I  left  Penelope  she  was  standing  before  the  fire,  furi 
ous  with  me,  but  when  I  came  back,  not  two  minutes 
later,  she  was  lying  on  the  divan  with  her  eyes  closed, 
apparently  asleep.  As  I  had  been  out  of  the  room  for 
so  short  a  time,  it  seemed  incredible  that  she  could 
have  really  fallen  asleep,  yet  there  she  was.  I  looked 
at  her  in  astonishment.  I  wondered  if  she  could  have 
fainted,  but  I  saw  that  her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  STUDIO      57 

lips  were  red  and  she  was  breathing  regularly.  I  didn't 
know  what  to  make  of  it." 

"Well?"  questioned  the  doctor. 

Herrick  shifted  uneasily  on  his  chair.  "I  haven't 
had  much  experience  with  women,  sir,  but  I  know  they 
are  complicated  creatures,  and  I  couldn't  help  thinking 
that  Penelope  was  playing  a  little  joke  on  me;  so  I  bent 
over  her  and,  after  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  she 
wasn't  ill  and  wasn't  asleep,  I — I  kissed  her  again. 
That's  another  queer  thing.  Her  lips  were  warm, 
her  breathing  was  as  soft  and  regular  as  a  child's,  but 
she  never  moved  nor  spoke  nor  responded  in  any  way. 
She  just  lay  there  and " 

"You  thought  she  was  shamming?"  suggested  Owen. 

"That's  it,  especially  as  she  had  been  so  angry  with 
me  just  a  few  minutes  before.  I  couldn't  imagine  any 
thing  else.  So — er " 

"Go  on,"  said  the  older  man. 

"You  know  I  have  always  respected  women,  and 
this  woman  was  more  to  me  than  anything — she's  the 
woman  I  want  for  my  wife,  so  you  see  I  would  be  the 

last  man  in  the  world  to  show  her  disrespect,  but " 

the  young  fellow  flushed — "as  I  looked  at  her  there  on 
the  divan — so  beautiful — I  longed  to  hold  her  in  my 
arms  and  I  said  to  myself  that,  even  if  she  was  trick 
ing  me,  it  was  quite  a  pleasing  trick — if  she  could  stand 
it,  I  could — so  I — I  kissed  her  some  more.  I  begged 
her  to  speak  to  me,  to  respond  to  me,  to  tell  me  she 
returned  my  love  and  would  be  my  wife;  but  she  didn't 
answer,  didn't  move,  or  speak,  she  didn't  even  open  her 
eyes,  and  presently  I  was  filled  with  a  horrible  sense 


58  POSSESSED 

of  shame.  I  felt  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  stealing  ca 
resses  that  were  not  meant  for  me  or  willingly  given. 
I  realized  that  something  terrible  must  have  happened 
to  Penelope,  although  she  looked  so  calm  and  beautiful. 

"And  now  my  only  thought  was  to  call  for  help.  I 
hurried  into  the  next  room  and  tried  to  get  you  on  the 
telephone,  but  they  said  you  were  at  the  hospital  and 
could  not  be  reached  for  an  hour.  Then  I  rushed  back 
to  the  studio  and,  as  soon  as  I  came  in,  I  could  scarcely 
believe  my  eyes  but  there  was  Penelope  standing  in 
front  of  the  fireplace,  just  as  I  had  left  her  the  first 
time.  She  was  looking  at  the  blazing  logs  with  a 
thoughtful  expression  and  when  I  came  close  to  her, 
she  faced  me  naturally  and  pleasantly  as  if  nothing  had 
happened. 

"You  can  imagine  my  astonishment,  I  could  not 
speak,  but — I  was  so  relieved  to  find  her  recovered 
that  I  put  my  arm  around  her  affectionately  and  just 
touched  my  lips  to  her  cheek.  Heavens !  You  should 
have  seen  her  then.  She  sprang  away  from  me  indig 
nant.  How  dared  I  take  such  a  liberty?  Had  she  not 
reproved  me  already?  It  was  incredible  that  a  man 
who  professed  to  care  for  her,  a  gentleman,  should  be 
so  lacking  in  delicacy.  And  before  I  could  do  anything 
or  explain  anything,  she  had  dashed  out  into  the  night 
alone,  refusing  even  to  let  me  walk  beside  her.  Now 
then,"  Christopher  concluded,  "what  do  you  make  of 
that?" 

"Strange!"  nodded  the  doctor,  "very  strange.  And 
in  spite  of  this  she  came  to  see  you  again?" 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  STUDIO      59 

"Yes,  two  evenings  later,  without  any  warning,  she 
burst  into  my  studio  about  nine  o'clock. 

"In  a  red  dress?" 

"Yes." 

"And  a  black  hat?" 

"Yes." 

"Good  Lord,  it's  true!"  muttered  Owen.  "Go  on, 
my  boy.  I  want  the  details.  This  may  be  exceedingly 
important.  Go  right  through  the  scene  from  the  be 
ginning." 

After  a  moment  of  perplexed  silence,  Christopher 
continued:  "When  I  say  she  burst  in,  that  about  ex 
presses  it.  She  was  like  a  whirlwind,  a  red,  laughing, 
fascinating  whirlwind.  I  had  never  seen  her  half  so 
beautiful — so  alluring.  I  was  mad  about  her  and — 
half  afraid  of  her." 

"Hm !"  grunted  Owen,    "What  did  she  do  ?" 

"Do?  She  did  a  lot  of  things.  In  the  first  place 
she  apologized  for  having  been  so  silly  the  time  before 
— after  the  ball.  She  said  she  was  ill  then,  she  didn't 
want  to  talk  about  it.  Now  she  had  come  to  make 
amends — that  was  the  idea." 

"I  see.    Well?" 

"Well,  we  sat  before  the  fire  and  she  asked  me  to 
make  her  a  cocktail.  She  said  she  had  had  the  blues 
and  she  wanted  to  be  gay.  So  I  mixed  some  cocktails 
and  she  took  two,  and  she  certainly  was  gay.  I  didn't 
know  Penelope  drank  cocktails,  but  of  course  it  was 
all  right — lots  of  women  do.  Then  she  wanted  to  sit 
on  the  divan  and  she  bolstered  me  up  with  pillows. 


60  POSSESSED 

She  said  she  liked  divans.     I  hate  to  tell  you  all  this, 
sir." 

"Go  on,  Chris." 

"Pretty  soon  she  wanted  a  cigarette  and  she  began 
to  blow  smoke  in  my  face,  laughing  and  fooling  and — 
finally  she  put  her  lips  up  so  temptingly  for  another 
light  that  I  ...  I'll  never  forget  how  she  bent  over 
me  and  held  my  face  between  her  two  hands  and  kissed 
me  slowly  with  a  little  sideways  movement  and  tolo? 
me  to  call  her  Fauvette — not  Penelope.  She  said  she 
hated  the  name  Penelope.  'Call  me  Fauvette,'  she  said. 
'I  am  your  Fauvette,  all  yours.'  ' 

"Extraordinary!  This  was  the  woman  who  had 
been  furious  with  you  only  two  nights  before  for  dar 
ing  to  kiss  her  once?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Now  she  was  a  siren,  a  wonderful,  lithe 
creature,  clinging  to  me.  I  almost  lost  control  of  my 
self.  Once  I  caught  her  sharply  by  the  shoulder — I 
tore  her  dress.  .  .  ." 

Christopher  stopped  as  the  power  of  these  mem 
ories  overcame  him.     He  covered  his  eyes  with  one 
hand,  while  the  other  clutched  the  chair  arm. 
The  doctor  waited. 

"Well,  sir,"  the  young  man  resumed,  "I  don't  know 
how  I  came  through  that  night  without  dishonor,  but 
I  did.  There  was  a  moment  of  madness,  then  sud 
denly,  distinctly,  like  a  gentle  bell  I  heard  a  voice  in 
side  me,  a  sort  of  spiritual  voice  saying  two  words  that 
changed  everything.  'Your  wife!'  That  is  what  she 
was  to  be,  my  wife !  I  loved  her.  I  must  defend  her 
against  herself,  against  myself.  And  I  did.  I  got  her 


6i 

out  of  that  place — somehow.  I  got  her  home — some 
how.  I  have  been  through  several  battles,  doctor, 
but  this  one  was  the  hardest." 

Captain  Herrick  drew  a  long  sigh  and  sat  silent. 

"What's  the  answer,  doctor?"  he  asked  presently. 

"I  don't  know,  Chris.    Upon  my  soul,  I  don't  know." 


CHAPTER  VI 

EARTH-BOUND 

(From  Penelope's  Diary) 

Tuesday  Night. 

HEAVEN  help  me!  I  have  heard  the  words  that 
sound  my  doom.  I  saw  Dr.  Owen  this  morning.  It  is 
all  true — my  dream,  and  what  I  saw  myself  do  in  the 
bowl  of  goldfish.  True !  I  did  those  incredible  things. 
I  wore  my  red  dress  and  my  black  hat.  I  went  to  Cap 
tain  Herrick's  studio.  I  lay  down  on  the  divan — 
everything  is  true.  Oh,  God,  this  is  too  horrible ! 
How  can  I  ever  face  Christopher  again?  I  wish  I 
could  die ! 

Dr.  Owen  questioned  me  about  the  name  Fauvette 
— why  did  I  ask  Christopher  to  call  me  Fauvette?  I 
have  no  idea.  I  hate  and  despise  that  name.  It  brings 
up  memories  that  I  wish  might  be  forever  blotted  out  of 
my  mind.  That  was  the  name  Julian  used  to  call  me 
when  he  had  been  drinking.  He  would  pretend  that 
I  was  another  person,  Fauvette,  and  sometimes  Fau 
vette  would  do  things  that  I  refused  to  do.  Fauvette 
would  yield  to  his  overpowering  physical  charm  and 
would  say  dreadful  things,  would  enter  into  his  mood 
and  become  just  the  sort  of  animal  creature  that  he 
wanted.  It  was  like  a  madness. 

62 


EARTH-BOUND  63 

Wednesday  morning. 

I  cried  my  eyes  out  last  night  and  lay  awake  for 
hours  thinking  about  my  unhappy  life.  All  my  pride 
and  hopes  have  come  to  this — an  irresponsible  mind. 
It  makes  no  difference  whether  the  cause  is  shell  shock 
or  something  else,  the  fact  remains  that  my  mind  does 
not  work  properly — I  do  things  without  knowing  or 
remembering  what  I  do.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  live  long 
— what  have  I  to  live  for?  I  have  made  a  will  leav 
ing  my  little  fortune  to  Chris — he  will  never  know  how 
much  I  care  for  him — and  my  jewelry  to  Seraphine, 
except  my  silly  thumb  ring,  which  is  for  Roberta  Vallis, 
She  loves  it. 

This  afternoon  They  came  again.  They  never  were 
so  bad.  I  was  walking  down  Fifth  Avenue  and,  as  I 
reached  the  cathedral,  I  thought  I  would  go  in  and  say 
my  prayers.  I  love  the  soft  lights  and  the  smell  of 
incense,  but  just  at  the  door  They  began  insulting  me. 

"Little  fool!  Little  fool!  She  is  going  to  say  her 
prayers.  Ha,  ha !"  They  laughed. 

I  knelt  down  and  breathed  an  old  benediction,  shut 
ting  my  ears  against  the  Voices : 

"The  peace  of  God  which  passeth  all  understand 
ing " 

"Fauvette!  Fauvette!"  They  mocked  me. 

"Keep  your  hearts  and  minds  in  the  knowledge  and 
love  of  God " 

"She's  a  pretty  little  devil.     I  like  her  mouth." 

"And  of  his  son,  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord " 

"Red  dress!    Red  dress!    Divan!    Divan!" 


64  POSSESSED 

"And  the  blessing  of  God  Almighty,  the  Father,  the 
Sen  and  the  Holy  Ghost " 

"She  can't  remember  it.  She's  thinking  of  her  lover. 
She  wants  to  kiss  her  lover."  Then  They  said  gross 
things  and  I  could  not  go  on.  I  got  up  from  my  knees, 

heart-broken,  and  came  away. 

*  * 

* 

Thursday  night. 

I  thought  I  should  never  be  happy  again,  but  what 
ever  the  future  holds  for  me  of  darkness  and  sadness, 
I  have  had  one  radiantly  happy  day.  Christopher  tele 
phoned  this  morning  and  arrived  half  an  hour  later 
with  an  armful  of  roses.  He  took  me  to  luncheon, 
then  for  a  drive  in  the  Park,  then  to  tea  at  the  Plaza 
where  we  danced  to  delicious  music,  and  finally  to  din 
ner  and  the  theater.  He  would  not  leave  me.  And 
over  and  over  again  he  asked  me  to  marry  him.  He 
will  not  hear  of  anything  but  that  I  am  to  be  his  wife. 
He  loves  me,  he  worships  me,  he  trusts  me  absolutely. 
Nothing  that  has  happened  makes  the  slightest  differ 
ence  to  him.  Dr.  Owen  is  going  to  cure  me  in  a  few 
weeks,  there  is  no  doubt  about  it,  Christopher  says, 
and  anyhow,  he  loves  me. 

If  I  were  in  Europe  now  I'd  make  a  pilgrimage  to 
the  shrine  of  some  saint  and  heap  up  offerings  of 
flowers.  I  must  do  something  to  make  others  happy; 
my  heart  is  overflowing  with  gratitude ! 

I  thrilled  with  pride  as  I  walked  beside  my  lover  on 
the  Avenue  this  afternoon.  He  looked  so  tall  and 


EARTH-BOUND  65 

splendid  in  his  uniform.     I  love  his  eyes — his  shoul 
ders — everything  about  him.     My  Christopher! 

I  am  to  give  him  his  answer  within  a  week,  but — 

what  answer  can  I  give  him? 

*  * 

* 

Friday  morning. 

Alas !  I  have  paid  for  my  happiness — it  was  writ 
ten,  it  had  to  be.  I  have  lived  through  a  night  that 
cannot  be  described.  Seraphine's  prophetic  words  have 
come  true.  Horror!  Terror!  I  cannot  bear  it  any 
longer.  It  is  quite  impossible  for  me  to  bear  it  any 
longer.  I  have  sent  for  Seraphine,  begging  her  to 
come  to  me  at  once — this  afternoon,  this  evening,  any 
time  tonight,  before  I  sleep  again.  I  would  sooner  die 
than  endure  another  such  night. 


Saturday  morning. 

Seraphine  did  not  get  my  note  until  late,  but  in  spite 
of  a  snow-storm,  she  came  to  me  and  stayed  all  night. 
Dear  Seraphine!  She  spends  her  life  helping  and 
comforting  people  in  distress.  She  sees  nothing  but 
trouble  from  morning  till  night,  yet  she  is  always  cheer 
ful  and  jolly.  She  says  God  wants  her  to  laugh  and 
grow  fat,  so  she  does. 

We  talked  for  hours  and  I  told  her  everything — or 
nearly  everything.  There  is  only  one  abominable 
memory  that  I  can  never  tell  to  anyone,  I  may  write  it 
some  day  in  the  red  leather  volume  of  my  diary  that 
is  locked  with  a  key  and  that  must  be  burned  before  I 


66  POSSESSED 

die.  I  told  Seraphine  how  I  was  suddenly  awakened 
Thursday  night  by  a  horrible  feeling  that  there  was  a 
presence  near  me  in  my  bedroom.  Then  I  slept  again 
and  saw  myself  all  in  white  lying  on  the  ground  sur 
rounded  by  a  circle  of  black  birds  with  hateful  red 
eyes — fiery  eyes.  These  birds  came  nearer  and  nearer 
and  I  knew  I  was  suffering  horribly  as  I  lay  there,  yet 
I  looked  on  calmly  without  a  shred  of  sympathy  for 
myself;  in  fact  I  felt  only  amused  contempt  when  I 
saw  the  dream  image  of  poor  Penelope  start  up  from 
the  ground  with  a  scream  of  fright. 

While  I  opened  my  heart  Seraphine  sat  silent, 
watching  me  like  a  loving  mother.  Several  times  she 
touched  my  arm  protectingly,  and  once  her  gaze  swept 
quickly  down  my  skirt,  then  up  again,  as  if  she  saw 
something  moving. 

"What  is  it?  What  do  you  see?"  I  asked,  but  she 
did  not  tell  me. 

When  I  had  finished  she  kissed  me  tenderly  and 
said  she  was  so  glad  I  had  let  her  come  to  me  in  my 
distress.  She  told  me  there  was  a  great  and  imme 
diate  danger  hanging  over  me,  but  that  God's  infinite 
love  would  protect  and  heal  me,  as  it  protects  all  His 
children,  if  I  would  learn  to  draw  upon  it. 

I  asked  what  this  danger  was  and  Seraphine  said  it 
would  strike  at  me  very  soon  through  a  dark-haired 
woman;  but  she  would  try  to  help  me,  if  I  would  heed 
her  warnings.  I  don't  know  why  but  I  immediately 
thought  of  Roberta  Vallis,  and  the  strange  part  of  it 
is  that  within  an  hour,  Roberta  called  me  on  the  tele 
phone  to  say  she  was  coming  up  right  away.  Roberta 


EARTH-BOUND  67 

and  Seraphine  had  not  seen  each  other  for  years,  not 
since  that  night  when  Seraphine  made  her  prophecy 
about  me. 

Within  a  half  hour  Roberta  arrived  very  grand  in 
furs  and  jewels,  quite  dashingly  pretty  and  pleased 
with  herself — the  real  joie  de  v'vure  spirit.  She  was 
perfectly  willing  to  reveal  the  source  of  this  sudden 
magnificence,  but  I  did  not  ask  her — I  know  enough  of 
Bobby's  love  affairs  already — and  I  could  see  that  she 
was  uneasy  under  Seraphine's  gravely  disapproving 
eyes.  She  had  come  to  invite  me  to  a  house-warming 
party  that  she  is  planning  to  give  at  her  new  apartment 
in  the  Hotel  des  Artistes.  I  shall  meet  all  sorts  of 
wonderful  people,  social  and  theatrical  celebrities,  and 
there  will  be  music.  Seraphine's  eyes  kept  saying  no, 
and  I  told  Bobby  I  would  telephone  her  tomorrow 
before  six  o'clock.  I  was  not  sure  whether  I  could  ac 
cept  because — "Haven't  you  an  engagement  for  Thurs 
day  with  Captain  Herrick?"  suggested  Seraphine. 

Whereupon  Bobby,  with  an  impertinent  little  toss  of 
her  bobbed-off  black  hair,  said:  "Oh,  Pen,  why  do 
you  waste  your  time  on  a  commonplace  architect?  He 
will  never  satisfy  you — not  in  a  thousand  years.  Bye-' 
bye,  I'll  see  you  at  the  party."  Then  away  she  went, 
her  eyes  challenging  Seraphine  who  stands  for  all  the 
old  homely  virtues,  including  unselfish  love,  that  Bobby 
Vallis  entirely  disapproves  of.  What  shall  I  do? 
Seraphine  says  I  must  not  go  to  this  party,  but — /  want 
to  go! 


68  POSSESSED 

I  have  accepted  Roberta's  invitation,  in  spite  of  a 
warning  from  Seraphine  that  something  dreadful  will 
happen  to  me  if  I  go.  I  have  a  morbid  curiosity  to 
see  what  experiences  can  be  in  store  for  me  that  are 
worse  than  those  I  have  gone  through  already.  Be 
sides,  I  do  not  believe  what  Seraphine  says — it  is  con 
trary  to  my  reason,  it  is  altogether  fantastic.  And, 
even  if  it  were  true,  even  if  I  really  am  in  the  horrible 
peril  that  she  describes,  what  difference  does  it  make 
where  I  go  or  what  I  do?  I  am  just  a  spiritual  out 
cast,  marked  for  suffering — a  little  more  or  less  je 

m'en  moque. 

*  * 

* 

I  have  hesitated  to  write  down  Seraphine's  explana 
tion  of  my  trouble,  even  in  my  diary.  I  reject  it  with 
all  the  strength  of  my  soul.  I  consider  it  absurd,  I 
hate  it,  I  try  to  forget  it;  but  alas!  it  sticks  in  my 
thoughts  like  some  ridiculous  jingle.  So  I  may  as  well 
face  the  thing  on  paper,  here  in  the  privacy  of  my 
diary,  and  laugh  at  it.  Ha,  ha ! — is  that  false-sound 
ing  laughter? 

Seraphine  says  that  the  great  war  has  thrown  the 
spirit  world  into  confusion,  especially  in  the  lower 
levels  where  the  new  arrivals  come  and  linger.  Mil 
lions,  have  died  on  the  battle  field  in  hatred  and  vio 
lence.  Great  numbers  of  these  have  gone  over  so 
suddenly  that  they  are  not  able  to  adjust  themselves 
to  the  other  plane  where  they  constitute  an  immense 
company  of  earth-bound  souls  that  long  to  come  back. 
There  are  myriads  of  these  unreconciled  souls  hover- 


EARTH-BOUND  6? 

ing  all  about  us,  crowding  about  us,  eagerly,  greedily, 
striving  to  come  back.  Some  do  not  know  that  they 
are  dead  and  rebel  fiercely  against  their  changed  con 
dition.  The  drunkards  still  thirst  after  drink.  The 
murderers  want  to  go  on  killing.  The  gluttons  would 
fain  gorge  themselves  with  food,  the  lustful  with  bodily 
excesses.  All  these  evil  spirits,  cut  of  from  their  old 
gratifications,  try  to  satisfy  their  desires  by  re-entering 
earthly  bodies,  and  often  they  succeed.  That  is  the 
great  peril  of  the  war,  she  says.  What  a  horrible 
thought!  I  simply  refuse  to  believe  that  such  things 
are  possible. 

And  yet — those  Voices! 


CHAPTER  VII 

JEWELS 

IF  this  were  a  conventional  novel  and  not  simply  a 
statement  of  essential  facts  in  the  strange  case  of 
Penelope  Wells,  there  would  be  much  elaboration  of 
details  and  minor  characters,  including  the  wife  of  Dr. 
William  Owen  and  an  adventure  that  befell  this  lady 
during  a  week-end  visit  to  Morristown,  N.  J.,  since 
this  adventure  has  a  bearing  upon  the  narrative.  As 
it  is,  we  must  be  content  to  know  that  Mrs.  William 
Owen  was  an  irritable  and  neurasthenic  person,  a 
thorn  in  the  side  of  her  distinguished  husband,  who  was 
supposed  to  cure  these  ailments.  He  could  not  cure 
his  wife,  however,  and  had  long  since  given  up  trying. 
It  was  Mrs.  Owen  who  quite  unintentionally  changed 
the  course  of  events  for  sad-eyed  Penelope. 

It  happened  in  this  way.  Dr.  Owen  received  a  call 
from  Mrs.  Seraphine  Walters  on  the  day  following 
Seraphine's  talk  with  Penelope  and  was  not  overjoyed 
to  learn  that  his  visitor  was  a  trance  medium.  If  there 
was  one  form  of  human  activity  that  this  hard-headed 
physician  regarded  with  particular  detestation  it  was 
that  of  mediumship.  All  mediums,  in  his  opinion,  were 
knaves  or  fools  and  their  so-called  occult  manifesta 
tions  were  either  conjurers'  trickery  or  self-created  illu- 

70 


JEWELS  71 

sions  of  a  hypnotic  character.    He  had  never  attended 
a  spiritualistic  seance  and  had  no  intention  of  doing  so. 

But  in  spite  of  his  aversion  for  Seraphine's  metier, 
the  doctor  was  impressed  by  the  lady's  gentle  dignity 
and  by  her  winsome  confidence  that  she  must  be  lov 
ingly  received  since  she  herself  came  armed  so  abun 
dantly  with  the  power  of  love.  Furthermore,  it  ap 
peared  that  the  medium  had  called  for  no  other  reason 
than  to  furnish  information  about  her  dear  friend 
Penelope  Wells,  so  the  specialist  listened  politely. 

"You  are  the  first  spiritualist  I  ever  talked  to,  Mrs. 
Walters,"  he  said  amiably.  "You  seem  to  have  a 
sunny,  joyous  nature?" 

Her  face  lighted  up.  "That  is  because  I  have  so 
much  to  be  grateful  for,  doctor.  I  have  always  been 
happy,  almost  always,  even  as  a  little  girl,  be 
cause "  She  checked  herself,  laughing.  "I  guess 

you  are  not  interested  in  that." 

"Yes  I  am.    Go  on."  , 

"I  was  only  going  to  say  that  I  have  always  known 
that  there  are  wonderful  powers  all  about  us,  guard 
ing  us." 

"You  knew  this  as  a  little  girl?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  used  to  see  Them  when  I  was  playing 
alone.  I  thought  They  were  fairies.  It  was  a  long 
time  before  I  discovered  that  the  other  children  did 
not  see  Them." 

"Them!  Hm!  How  long  have  you  been  doing 
active  work  as  a  medium?" 

"About  fifteen  years." 


72  POSSESSED 

"What  started  you  at  it?  I  suppose  there  were  in 
dications  that  you  had  unusual  powers?" 

"Yes.  There  were  indications  that  I  had  been 
chosen  for  this  work.  I  don't  know  why  I  was  chosen 
unless  it  is  that  I  have  never  thought  much  about  my 
self.  That  is  the  great  sin — selfishness.  My  controls 
tell  me  that  terrible  punishment  awaits  selfish  souls  on 
the  other  side.  I  was  so  happy  when  I  learned  that 
the  exalted  spirits  can  only  manifest  through  a  loving 
soul.  They  read  our  thoughts,  see  the  color  of  our 
aura  and,  if  they  can,  they  come  to  those  who  have 
traits  in  common  with  their  own." 

"If  they  can — how  do  you  mean?" 

"My  controls  tell  me  that  many  spirits  cannot  mani 
fest  at  all,  just  as  many  humans  cannot  serve  as 
mediums." 

At  this  moment  a  maid  entered  the  office  and  spoke 
to  Dr.  Owen  in  a  low  tone  saying  that  Mrs.  Owen  had 
sent  her  to  remind  the  doctor  that  this  was  Saturday 
morning  and  that  they  were  leaving  for  Morristown 
in  an  hour  to  be  gone  over  Sunday.  No  message 
could  have  been  more  unfortunate  than  this  for  Dr. 
Owen's  equanimity,  since  he  abominated  week-end  in 
vitations,  particularly  those  like  the  present  one  (which 
Mrs.  Owen  revelled  in)  from  pretentiously  rich  peo 
ple. 

"Very  well.  Tell  Mrs.  Owen  I  will  be  ready,"  he 
said,  then  turned  with  changed  manner  to  poor  Sera- 
phine,  whose  brightening  chances  were  now  hopelessly 
dissipated. 

"Suppose  we  come  to  the  point,  Mrs.  Walters,"  he 


JEWELS  73 

went  on.  "I  am  rather  pressed  for  time  and — you 
say  you  are  a  friend  of  Mrs.  Wells?  Have  you  any 
definite  information  bearing  upon  her  condition?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  she  replied  and  at  once  made  it  clear  that 
she  was  fully  informed  as  to  Penelope's  distressing 
symptoms. 

"She  is  suffering  from  shell  shock,"  said  the  doctor. 

"No,  no !"  the  medium  disagreed,  sweetly  but  firmly. 
"Penelope's  trouble  is  due  to  something  quite  different 
and  far  more  serious  than  shell  shock." 

Then  earnestly,  undaunted  by  Owen's  skeptical 
glances,  Seraphine  proceeded  to  set  forth  her  belief 
that  there  is  today  in  the  world  such  a  thing  as  literal 
possession  by  evil  spirits. 

"You  mean  that  as  applying  to  Mrs.  Wells?"  the 
doctor  asked  with  a  weary  lift  of  the  shoulders. 

"Yes,  I  do.  I  can  give  you  evidence — if  you  will 
only  listen " 

"My  dear  lady,  I  really  cannot  go  into  such  a — 
purely  speculative  field.  I  must  handle  Mrs.  Wells' 
case  as  I  understand  it  with  the  help  of  means  that  I 
am  familiar  with." 

"Of  course,  but,  doctor,"  she  begged,  "don't  be 
vexed  with  me,  I  am  only  trying  to  save  this  dear  child, 
I  love  Penelope  and — I  must  say  it — you  are  not  mak 
ing  progress.  She  is  going  straight  on  to — to  disaster. 
I  know  what  I  am  saying." 

For  a  moment  he  hesitated. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"I  want  you  to  have  a  consultation  with  Dr.  Edgar 
Leroy." 


74  POSSESSED 

"Dr.  Edgar  Leroy?  Who  is  he?  I  never  heard  of 
him." 

"He  is  a  New  York  doctor  who  has  had  great  suc 
cess  in  cases  like  Penelope's — cases  of  obsession  or — 
possession." 

"Oh !  Does  he  believe  in  that  sort  of  thing?  Is  he 
a  spiritualist?" 

Seraphine  felt  the  coldness  of  his  tone  and  shrank 
from  it,  but  she  continued  her  effort,  explaining  that 
Dr.  Leroy  had  been  a  regular  practitioner  for  years, 
but  he  had  changed  his  methods  after  extended  psychic 
investigations  that  had  led  him  to  new  knowledge — 
such  wonderful  knowledge!  Her  deep  eyes  burned 
with  the  zeal  of  a  great  faith. 

"I  see.     Where  is  his  office?" 

"In  Fortieth  Street — it's  in  the  telephone  book — 
Dr.  Edgar  Leroy.  If  you  only  knew  the  extraordinary 
cures  he  has  accomplished,  you  would  realize  how  nec 
essary  it  is  for  Penelope  to  have  the  help  he  alone  can 
give  her." 

She  waited  eagerly  for  his  reply. 

"How  do  you  happen  to  know  so  much  about  this 
doctor?" 

"Because  I  have  been  allowed  to  help  him.  He  uses 
me  in  diagnosis." 

"You  mean  that  Dr.  Leroy  relies  upon  information 
that  you  give  him  as  a  medium  in  treating  cases?"  He 
spoke  with  frank  disapproval. 

"Yes." 

Dr.  Owen  thought  a  moment.  "Of  course,  Mrs. 
Wells  is  free  to  consult  anyone  she  pleases,  but  I  would 


JEWELS  75 

not  feel  justified  in  advising  her  to  go  to  Dr.  Leroy." 

"But  you  must  advise  it,  you  must  insist  upon  it," 
urged  Seraphine.  "Penelope  relies  entirely  upon  you, 
she  will  do  nothing  without  your  approval,  and  this  is 
her  only  hope." 

"My  dear  lady,  you  certainly  are  not  lacking  in  con 
fidence,  but  you  must  realize  that  I  cannot  advise  a 
treatment  for  Mrs.  Wells  that  involves  the  use  of 
spiritualistic  agencies  when  I  do  not  believe  in  spiritual 
ism.  In  fact,  I  regard  spiritualism  as " 

Seraphine  lifted  her  hand  with  a  wistful  little  smile 
that  checked  the  outburst. 

"Don't  say  it — please  don't.  Will  you  do  one  thing, 
doctor,  not  for  me  but  for  poor  Penelope  ?  Come  to 
my  house  Monday  night.  I  have  a  little  class  there,  a 
class  of  eight.  We  have  been  working  together  for 
three  months  and — we  have  been  getting  results.  You 
may  be  allowed  to  witness  manifestations  that  will  con 
vince  you.  Will  you  come?"  she  pleaded. 

"You  mean  that  I  may  see  a  spirit  form?  Or  hear 
some  tambourines  playing?  Something  of  that  sort?" 
His  tone  was  almost  contemptuously  incredulous. 

The  anxious  suppliant  was  gathering  her  forces  to 
reply  when  the  hall  clock  struck  solemnly,  bringing 
back  disagreeably  to  the  specialist's  mind  his  impend 
ing  social  duty,  and  this  was  sufficient  to  turn  the  bal 
ance  of  his  decision  definitely  against  Seraphine.  He 
shook  his  head  uncompromisingly. 

"I  cannot  do  it,  madam.  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint 
you,  but  I  have  strong  convictions  on  this  subject 


76  POSSESSED 

and "  He  rose  to  dismiss  her.  "Now  I  must  ask 

you  to  excuse  me." 

In  spite  of  this  disappointment  Seraphine  did  not 
lose  faith.  "Dear  child,"  she  wrote  to  Penelope  that 
night,  UI  am  like  a  man  in  the  darkness  who  knows 
the  sun  will  rise  soon  and  is  not  discouraged.  Before 
many  days  Dr.  Owen  will  listen  to  me  and  be  con 
vinced." 

Firm  in  this  confidence,  the  medium  returned  to  Dr. 
Owen's  office  the  following  Monday  morning,  but  she 
was  coldly  received.  A  rather  condescending  young 
woman  brought  out  word  that  the  specialist  was  ex 
ceedingly  busy  and  could  not  see  her. 

"But  it  is  so  important,"  pleaded  Mrs.  Walters 
with  eyes  that  would  have  moved  a  heart  of  stone. 
"Couldn't  you  ask  him  to  give  me  a  few  minutes?  I'll 
be  very  grateful." 

The  office  assistant  wavered.  "I'll  tell  you  why  you 
had  better  come  back  another  day,  madam,"  she  began 
confidentially;  "Dr.  Owen  is  very  much  upset  because 
his  wife  has  just  lost  some  valuable  jewelry.  You  see, 
Mrs.  Owen  went  to  Morristown  for  the  week-end  and 
took  a  jewel  box  with  her  in  her  trunk — there  was  a 
pearl  necklace  and  some  brooches  and  rings;  but  when 
she  came  to  dress  for  dinner  last  night " 

"Wait!  I — I  hear  something,"  Seraphine  mur 
mured  and  sank  down  weakly  on  a  chair.  She  closed 
her  eyes  and  her  breathing  quickened,  while  the  young 
woman  bent  over  her  in  concern;  but  almost  imme 
diately  the  psychic  recovered  herself  and  looked  up 
with  a  friendly  smile. 


JEWELS  77 

"It's  all  right.  You  are  very  kind.  I  am  happy 
now  because  I  can  do  something  for  Dr.  Owen.  Please 
tell  him  his  wife  is  mistaken  in  thinking  that  she  took 
the  jewels  with  her.  The  jewels  are  here  in  this  house 
— now." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"My  control  says  so."  The  medium  spoke  with  such 
a  quiet  power  of  manner  that  the  office  assistant  was 
impressed. 

"Suppose  I  tell  Mrs.  Owen?"  she  suggested. 

"Very  well,  tell  Mrs.  Owen.  Ask  her  if  I  may  go 
to  the  room  where  she  last  remembers  having  her 
jewel  box?" 

The  young  woman  withdrew  with  this  message  and 
presently  returned  to  say  that  Mrs.  Owen  would  be 
glad  if  Seraphine  would  come  up  to  her  bedroom.  A 
few  minutes  later  Seraphine  faced  a  querulous  invalid 
propped  up  against  lace  pillows. 

"I  am  positive  I  put  my  jewel  box  in  the  trunk," 
insisted  Mrs.  Owen.  "It  is  foolish  to  say  that  I  did 
not,  it  is  perfectly  useless  to  look  for  the  jewels  in  this 
house.  However — what  are  you  doing?  Why  do 
you  look  at  me  so  strangely?" 

"The  jewels  are — in  this  room — in  a  chintz  sewing 
bag,"  the  psychic  declared  slowly,  her  eyes  far  away. 

"Absurd!" 

"I  see  the  sewing  bag — distinctly.  There  are  pink 
roses  on  it." 

"I  have  a  sewing  bag  like  that,"  admitted  the  doc 
tor's  wife,  "it  is  on  a  shelf  in  the  closet — there  I  Will 


7B  POSSESSED 

you  get  it  for  me,  Miss  Marshall?  We  shall  soon  see 
about  this.  Now  then!"  She  searched  through  the 
bag,  but  found  nothing.  "I  told  you  so.  My  husband 
is  quite  right  in  his  ideas  about  mediums.  I  really  wish 
you  had  not  disturbed  me,"  she  said  impatiently. 

But  the  medium  answered  pleasantly:  "I  have  only 
repeated  what  my  control  tells  me.  I  am  sorry  if  I 
have  annoyed  you.  I  advise  you  to  search  the  house 
carefully." 

"I  have  done  that  already,"  said  Mrs.  Owen. 

Whereupon  Seraphine,  still  unruffled,  took  her  de 
parture,  with  these  last  words  at  the  door  to  the  office 
assistant:  "Please  tell  Dr.  Owen  that  I  beg  him  most 
earnestly  to  have  the  house  searched  for  his  wife's 
jewels.  Otherwise  one  of  the  servants  will  find  them." 

And  Dr.  Owen,  in  spite  of  his  scientific  prejudices, 
in  spite  of  his  wife's  positive  declaration  that  the  jewels 
had  been  stolen  during  her  visit,  and  that  the  house 
had  been  thoroughly  searched,  acted  on  this  suggestion 
and  had  the  house  searched  again.  And  this  time  thq> 
missing  jewel  box  was  found,  with  the  necklace,  rings 
and  brooches  all  intactr  in  a  chintz  sewing  bag  covered 
with  pink  roses! 

It  seems  that  Mrs.  Owen  had  two  chintz  bags,  one 
for  ordinary  sewing,  one  for  darning,  and  in  the  latter 
bag,  hanging  on  a  nail  behind  the  bureau,  where  the 
doctor's  wife  had  absent-mindedly  hidden  it,  the  miss 
ing  jewel  box  was  discovered. 

"This  beats  the  devil!"  exclaimed  the  doctor  when 
he  heard  the  good  news.  And  an  hour  later  he  sent 


JEWELS  79 

the  following  telegram  to  Seraphine :  "Jewels  found, 
thanks  to  you.  We  are  very  grateful.  I  have  recon 
sidered  the  matter  and  accept  your  invitation  for  to 
night.  Will  call  at  eight  o'clock." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHITE  SHAPES 

\From  Penelope's  Diary) 

New  York  January  31,  1919. 

AN  extraordinary  thing  happened  on  Monday  night 
at  Seraphine's  apartment.  I  must  write  down  the  de 
tails  before  they  fade  from  my  memory.  Seraphine 
telephoned  Monday  morning  that  there  was  to  be  a 
meeting  of  her  occult  class  in  the  evening  and  she 
wanted  me  to  come  as  Dr.  Owen  had  promised  to  be 
there.  She  regarded  this  as  a  great  opportunity  to 
help  me.  Darling  Seraphine !  Of  course  I  could  not 
refuse,  although  I  abhor  spiritualism.  I  love  Sera 
phine  for  what  she  is,  and  in  spite  of  her  queer  beliefs. 

When  we  were  gathered  together  and  after  intro 
ductions  to  her  class  (there  were  six  or  seven  devout 
believers),  Seraphine  explained  that  it  was  difficult  to 
obtain  psychic  manifestations  in  the  presence  of  active 
disbelief,  and  she  begged  us  to  maintain  an  attitude  of 
friendly  open-mindedness.  I  am  afraid  I  did  not  do 
this  all  the  time. 

We  had  first  some  psychic  reminiscences  and  Sera 
phine  described  in  detail  how  on  a  certain  night  years 
ago  she  and  her  sister  were  sleeping  together  in  a 

80 


WHITE  SHAPES  81 

heavy  mahogany  fourposter  bed,  when  the  whole  bed 
with  the  two  women  was  lifted  several  inches  from  the 
floor  and  rocked  about,  and  was  then  held  suspended 
in  the  air  while  the  chamber  resounded  with  strange 
music.  In  my  opinion,  this  was  a  dream  or  an  illusion. 

I  am  also  skeptical  about  the  testimony  of  one  of 
the  group,  a  New  York  minister,  who  told  us  that  his 
dead  wife  has  come  to  him  in  the  night  on  several 
occasions  in  materialized  form  and  has  spoken  to  him, 
kissed  him,  and  taken  loving  counsel  with  him  about 
the  children  and  about  other  matters.  I  am  sure  this 
minister  was  the  victim  of  some  kind  of  hallucination. 

And  I  cannot  believe  a  statement  of  Seraphine's  re 
garding  a  Southern  woman  who  is  possessed  by  an 
evil  spirit  that  forces  her  to  drinking  excesses  so  that 
she  has  spoiled  her  whole  life.  Seraphine  described 
to  us  with  ghastly  vividness  the  appearance  of  this  evil 
entity  which  she  is  able  to  see,  through  her  clairvoyant 
vision,  with  its  hideous  leering  countenance,  inside  the 
lady.  For  my  part  /  refuse  to  believe  it. 

I  admit  that  I  began  to  have  creepy  sensations  when 
Seraphine  went  into  an  entranced  condition  in  the  cab 
inet.  Then  came  the  happenings  that  I  do  not  under 
stand  and  I  know  Dr.  Owen  does  not  understand  them 
either,  but  that  does  not  prove  that  they  were  super 
natural.  I  distinctly  saw  two  white  shapes  rise  from 
the  floor — one  of  them  was  so  close  to  me  that  I  could 
have  touched  it  with  my  hand,  but  I  did  not  because  I 
was  afraid.  Besides,  I  was  sitting  in  a  semi-circle  with 
the  others  and  our  hands  were  joined.  Dr.  Owen, 
however,  was  at  the  end  of  the  line  with  one  hand 


82  POSSESSED 

free,  and  I  saw  him  reach  out  towards  the  apparition 
(it  was  about  four  feet  high)  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
his  hand  and  arm  passed  right  through  the  white  shape. 
As  he  did  this  I  heard  a  long  sigh  and  a  rustling  sound 
and  I  was  conscious  of  a  chilling  breath  on  my  face.  I 
asked  Dr.  Owen  about  this  afterwards  and  he  said 
that  when  his  hand  touched  the  shape  it  felt  as  if  he 
was  grasping  thick  smoke. 

The  appearance  of  the  second  white  shape  was  more 
terrifying  because  Seraphine  came  out  of  the  cabinet 
when  she  evoked  it.  She  wore  a  loose  white  garment 
and  moved  about  the  room  in  the  near  darkness  like  a 
woman  walking  in  her  sleep.  She  repeated  a  beautiful 
prayer  in  a  slow  dreamy  voice — I  wish  I  could  remem 
ber  it,  the  idea  was  that  a  great  disaster  might  be 
averted  if  God  would  open  the  eyes  of  two  of  His 
doubting  children.  I  suppose  she  meant  Dr.  Owen 
and  me. 

Then  the  second  white  shape  appeared  and  seemed 
to  rise  and  grow  into  the  likeness  of  a  woman,  but 
presently  it  wavered  and  dissolved.  Seraphine  reached 
out  her  arms  towards  it  imploringly  and  I  saw  a 
woman's  hand  take  shape  clearly  and  rest  on  Sera- 
phine's  hand,  but  this  presently  faded  away,  like  a 
thing  of  vapor,  and  was  gone.  I  have  no  idea  what 
those  white  shapes  were,  or  why  they  came,  or  why 
they  went;  but  neither  have  I  any  idea  as  to  the  opera 
tion  of  X-rays.  These  white  shapes  may  in  a  few  years 
turn  out  to  be  perfectly  simple  laboratory  phenomena, 
no  more  mysterious  than  wireless  phenomena  were 


WHITE  SHAPES  83 

twenty-five  years  ago.  /  refuse  to  believe  that  a  living 
person  can  be  possessed  by  an  evil  spirit! 

Looking  back  at  this  seance,  what  troubles  me  is 
an  utterance  about  myself  that  is  supposed  to  have 
been  made  by  a  voice  from  the  other  side.  This  came 
at  the  very  end  when  Seraphine  went  into  an  entranced 
condition  again,  with  the  lights  up. 

"I  have  a  message  for  one  who  is  tenderly  loved  by 
an  exalted  spirit,"  she  said,  sighing  heavily,  her  eyes 
closed,  "one  who  would  come  to  her,  but  there  is  a 
barrier.  She  can  regain  health  and  happiness  if  she 
will  cleanse  her  soul  of  evil.  She  must  confess  a  sin 
ful  purpose  that  she  entertained  in  her  heart  on  the 
night  of  June  14,  1914." 

June  14,  1914!  I  looked  up  this  date  in  my  diary 
and  find  that  it  was  the  occasion  of  Roberta  Vallis' 
party  when  Seraphine  made  her  prophecy  about  me. 
Now  I  remember.  We  were  considering  what  a 
woman  can  do  to  satisfy  her  emotional  nature  if  she 
has  no  chance  to  marry  and  longs  for  the  companion 
ship  of  a  man.  I  said,  according  to  my  diary,  that 
"there  is  a  sacred  right  given  by  God  to  every  woman 
who  is  born,  a  right  that  not  even  God  Himself  can 

take  away >"  Then  I  was  interrupted  by  Seraphine 

and  I  did  not  tell  them  what  that  sacred  right  is  or 
what  use  I  personally  proposed  to  make  of  it. 

But  I  knew  and  know  still,  and  the  question  that  dis 
tresses  me  is  whether  an  exalted  spirit  (could  it  be  my 
mother?)  really  possesses  this  knowledge  of  my 
wicked  purpose — if  it  was  wicked — or  whether  this  is 
simply  a  case  of  mind  reading  by  Seraphine. 


84  POSSESSED 

"She  can  regain  health  and  happiness  if  she 

cleanse  her  soul  of  evil "  That  was  the  message.  Is 

it  true?  Is  there  evil  in  my  heart?  Have  I  entertained 
a  sinful  purpose?  Have  I  the  courage  to  answer  this 
question  truthfully,  even  in  these  secret  pages — have  I? 

Yes,  I  will  put  down  the  truth  and  justify  myself  in 
my  own  eyes.  Then  I  will  burn  this  book.  I  would 
die  of  shame  if  Christopher  should  ever  read  this  con 
fession. 

As  my  chief  justification,  I  dwell  upon  the  frightful 
wrong  that  my  husband  did  me  when  he  took  away  my 
faith  in  men,  my  faith  in  their  ability  or  willingness  to 
be  true  to  one  woman.  He  did  this  by  his  words  and 
by  his  acts.  He  assured  me  that  sex  desire  in  the  male 
is  so  resistless  that,  when  conflict  arises  between  this 
desire  and  the  teachings  of  religion,  it  is  the  latter 
which  are  almost  invariably  set  aside;  with  the  result 
that  great  numbers  of  men,  brought  up  as  Christians, 
either  renounce  Christianity  (if  they  are  honest)  or 
find  themselves  forced  into  a  life  of  hypocritical  com 
promise  in  regard  to  sex  indulgence.  Julian  told  me 
this  over  and  over  again,  no  doubt  to  excuse  his  own 
delinquencies,  until  it  was  burned  into  my  soul  that, 
whatever  happened,  I  would  never  marry  another  man, 
and  expose  myself  to  torments  and  humiliations  such 
as  I  had  endured  with  him — never ! 

After  my  husband  died  I  had  to  face  a  problem  that 
confronts  thousands  of  high  principled  young  women, 
widows,  divorcees,  in  America  and  in  all  countries — 
how  could  I  bear  the  torture  of  this  immense  loneli 
ness?  How  could  I  adjust  myself  to  life  without  the 


WHITE  SHAPES  85 

Intimate  companionship  of  a  man?  How  could  I 
satisfy  my  emotional  nature?  How? 

There  were  two  solutions,  a  second  marriage  and 
a  lover.  I  rejected  the  first  solution  for  reasons  al 
ready  given  and  the  second  solution  because  of  evi 
dence  all  about  me  that  one  lover  usually  means  two, 
three,  half  a  dozen  lovers,  since  men  grow  weary  and 
change  and  women,  in  loneliness  or  desperation,  change 
also.  Never  would  I  let  myself  sink  to  the  degrading 
level  of  sex  complaisance  that  is  sadly  or  cynically  ac 
cepted  by  many  women,  self-supporting  and  self-re 
specting,  in  many  American  cities,  simply  because  they 
cannot  combat  conditions  that  have  been  created  and 
perpetuated  by  the  stronger  sex. 

Therefore  I  worked  out  a  third  solution  that  was 
to  satisfy  my  emotional  nature  and  at  the  same  time 
give  me  a  reason  for  existence.  I  would  adopt  a  little 
waif  as  my  child,  a  French  or  Belgian  waif,  and  I 
would  bring  up  this  child  to  be  a  useful  and  happy 
man  or  woman.  I  would  love  it,  care  for  it,  teach 
it,  and  with  this  responsibility  and  soulagement,  I 
would  be  able  to  endure  the  loneliness  of  the  long 
years  stretching  before  me.  I  would  find  this  child 
while  I  was  in  France  working  for  the  Red  Cross  and 
bring  it  home  after  the  war,  only 

My  purpose  was  to  adopt  a  child  that  should  be 
born  of  my  own  body! 

That  is  my  sin,  a  sin  never  committed,  save  in  in 
tention,  yet  a  sin  that  would  have  been  committed,  if 
things  had  happened  differently.  The  arguments 
(based  on  the  sacred  right  of  motherhood  and  the 


86  POSSESSED 

longing  for  a  child)  that  led  me  to  my  original  pur 
pose  still  seem  valid  to  me.  It  is  terrible  to  say  this 
now,  but  I  must  tell  the  truth  and  the  truth  is  that,  if 
I  had  not  met  Captain  Herrick,  I  would  have  done 
this  thing.  My  whole  plan  of  life  was  changed  because 
I  loved  Captain  Herrick.  What  was  previously  im- 
impossible  became  possible,  and  what  was  previously 
possible  became  impossible  because  I  loved  Captain 
Herrick. 

That  is  the  truth. 

*  * 

* 

Tuesday. 

If  I  love  him  so  much,  why  am  I  possessed  by  a 
horrible  fear  that  I  will  refuse  to  be  his  wife?  Good 
God,  what  a  woman  I  am!  I  love  Captain  Herrick 
so  much  that  I  would  gladly  die  for  him — I  have  risked 
my  life  for  him  already — and  yet 

I  have  promised  Christopher  his  answer  when  we 
meet  at  Roberta's  party  on  Friday  night,  but  I  am  not 
sure  what  I  will  say  to  him.  Three  days !  I  told  Ro 
berta  I  would  not  go  to  her  party  unless  she  invited 
Christopher,  so  she  did. 

Wednesday. 

I  feel  much  encouraged  about  my  health.  For 
nearly  a  week  my  sleep  has  been  free  from  dreams  and 
They  have  not  come  near  me.  I  begin  to  think  Dr. 
Owen  is  right.  I  have  been  suffering  from  nervous 
disturbances  caused  by  shell  shock,  and  I  am  on  the 
road  to  recovery.  I  need  rest  and  recreation,  espe- 


WHITE  SHAPES  87 

cially  recreation — anything  to  divert  my  mind  from 
fears  and  somber  thoughts.  I  say  this  to  Seraphme 
when  she  warns  me  that  I  must  not  go  to  Roberta's 
party.  She  says  I  will  go  at  my  great  peril,  but  I  re 
fuse  to  entertain  these  fears.  I  crave  the  gaiety  and 
insouciance  of  Roberta's  care-free  Bohemians.  Be 
sides,  I  shall  see  Christopher.  I  will  tell  him  that  I 
love  him  with  all  my  soul  and  will  marry  him — the 
sooner  the  better — any  time.  Within  a  month  I  may 
be  Mrs.  Christopher  Herrick.  How  wonderful ! 

Thursday. 

While  I  was  looking  back  through  my  diary  I  came 
upon  a  reflection  of  Julian's — he  said  that  men  take 
no  real  interest  in  other  men,  as  men,  although  they  are 
interested  in  all  women.  The  fact  that  men  are  sex 
animals  makes  no  impression  upon  other  men,  whereas 
the  fact  that  women  are  sex  animals  makes  an  enor 
mous  impression.  A  man  would  hear  of  the  tragic 
death  of  a  thousand  unknown  men  with  comparative 
indifference,  he  declared,  but  would  be  distressed  to 
hear  of  the  death  of  a  hundred  unknown  women.  I 
wonder  if  that  is  true.  I  know  that  women  are  in 
tensely  conscious  that  all  other  women  are  sex  animals. 
Is  that  due  to  jealousy? 

I  came  upon  another  thought  of  Julian's — about 
temptation.  He  pictured  a  drunkard  who  has  sworn 
off  drinking.  This  man  announces  his  virtuous  in 
tentions  from  the  housetops — he  will  never  drink 
again,  he  will  avoid  temptation,  he  will  not  attend  a 
certain  convivial  gathering,  say  tonight  at  nine  o'clock. 


88  POSSESSED 

He  repeats  this  to  himself  and  to  others — he  will  not 
be  present  at  this  gathering.  But  all  the  time,  deep 
down  in  his  heart,  he  knows  that  he  will  be  present. 
He  knows  that  nine  o'clock  will  find  him  in  his  accus 
tomed  seat  smiling  upon  flowing  glasses.  .  .  . 

I  am  afraid  of  tomorrow  night.  I  am  afraid  of 
what  I  will  say  to  Captain  Herrickl 

Friday  morning. 

I  dreamed  last  night  that  I  was  in  a  great  purple 
forest  and  again  I  saw  the  black  birds  with  fiery 
eyes.  They  were  in  a  circle  around  me,  judging 
me.  They  wanted  me  to  say  something  or  do  some 
thing,  but  I  did  not  know  what  it  was,  and  I  was  in 
despair.  Suddenly  the  trees  opened  and  I  saw  a 
smooth  black  river  pouring  over  a  precipice  and  the 
birds  bore  me  to  the  river  and  dropped  me  into  it. 
Then,  as  I  struggled  in  the  water,  Chris  leaped  from 
the  bank  to  save  me,  but  I  fought  against  him  and  we 
were  both  swept  along  towards  the  precipice.  He 
caught  me  in  his  arms,  but  I  struck  at  him  and  screamed 

— and  then  I  awakened. 

*  * 

* 

Seraphine  gave  me  a  beautiful  prayer  or  affirma 
tion  to  say  when  I  am  afraid.  I  say  this  over  and 
over  again  and  it  comforts  me:  "I  am  God's  child. 
God  is  my  life.  God  is  my  strength.  My  soul  is  in 
unison  with  the  perfect  love  of  God.  There  is  abso 
lutely  nothing  to  fear.  All  thoughts  of  fear  are  ban- 


WHITE  SHAPES  89 

ished  from  my  mind.     I  will  no  longer  be  bound  by 
thoughts  of  fear." 

I  shut  my  eyes  tight  and  say  this  when  I  am  going 
to  sleep. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   CONFESSIONAL   CLUB 

IN  setting  forth  the  happenings  at  Roberta  Vallis' 
party  (with  their  startling  psychic  consequences  to 
Penelope  Wells)  it  is  necessary  to  say  a  word  about 
the  Greenwich  Village  poet  Kendall  Brown,  since  he 
originated  the  Confessional  Club.  This  remarkable 
organization  grew  out  of  a  tirade  against  American 
hypocrisy  made  by  Kendall  one  night  in  a  little  Italian 
restaurant  on  Bleecker  Street. 

What  was  most  needed  in  this  country  and  in  all 
countries,  the  one  thing  that  alone  could  redeem  man 
kind,  declared  Brown,  soaring  away  on  red  wine  en 
thusiasm,  was  truth.  "Let  us  be  honest  and  outspoken 
about  things  as  they  are,  about  men  and  women  as 
they  are,"  he  ran  on  in  his  charmingly  plausible  way. 
"We  are  none  of  us  very  important,  there  isn't  much 
difference  between  saints  and  sinners — I'll  argue  that 
point  with  any  man — but  there  is  one  immensely  valu 
able  contribution  that  we  can  all  make  to  the  general 
store  of  life-knowledge,  we  can  speak  the  exact  truth 
about  ourselves  and  our  experiences,  instead  of  hiding 
it.  That  would  be  a  real  service  to  humanity,  for  this 
composite  truth,  assembled  and  studied,  must  lead  to 
wisdom;  but  men  and  women  are  such  pitiful  cowards, 

90 


THE  CONFESSIONAL  CLUB  91 

such  cringing  toadies  to  convention.  It  makes  me 
sick!" 

He  refilled  his  glass  slowly  and  continued:  "Why  is 
our  talk  stupid — all  talk,  so  stupid  that  we  have  to  get 
drunk  in  order  to  endure  life?  Why  are  we  bores — 
all  of  us?  Because  we  are  afraid  to  say  the  essential 
things — what  we  know.  We  talk  about  what  we  don't 
know,  like  monkeys,  and  call  it  civilized.  By  God,  I'd 
like  to  start  a  society  for  the  dissemination  of  the  truth 
that  everybody  knows  and  nobody  tells !" 

This  phrase  caught  the  fancy  of  Roberta  Vallis 
whose  fluttering,  frivolous  soul  was  appealed  to  by 
any  line  of  reasoning  that  tended  to  put  saints  and  sin 
ners  on  the  same  level.  She  made  Kendall  repeat  his 
idea  and  then  and  there  proposed  that  they  adopt  it.  A 
society  for  the  dissemination  of  the  truth  that  every 
body  knows  and  nobody  tells!  Splendid!  They  must 
found  this  society — immediately.  When  should  they 
have  the  first  meeting? 

In  this  casual  way  the  Confessional  Club  came  into 
being,  with  no  fixed  membership,  no  dues  or  constitu 
tion,  no  regular  place  or  time  of  meeting,  and  added 
one  more  to  those  amusing  (sometimes  inspiring)  lit 
tle  groups  that  have  flourished  in  Greenwich  Village. 
It  certainly  had  a  real  idea  behind  it.  "We  are  loaded 
with  human  dynamite.  We  tell  the  truth  that  is  never 
told,"  became  the  watchword  of  the  society. 

All  of  which  bears  upon  the  present  narrative  be 
cause  Roberta  Vallis  had  arranged  to  have  one  of 
these  self-revealing  seances  as  a  feature  of  her  party; 


92  POSSESSED 

and  she  insisted  that  Penelope  contribute  an  emotional 
experience. 

"You  must  confess  something,  Pen,  my  sweet  one, 
in  order  to  be  in  the  spirit  of  the  evening,"  she  ex 
plained  with  bubbling  exuberance,  "any  little  thing. 
We  all  do  it.  Only  be  careful  you  don't  make  that 
architect  of  yours  jealous,"  she  teased.  "Think  up  a 
classy  confession,  something  weird — understand? 
Don't  look  so  darned  serious.  It's  only  for  fun.  You 
can  fake  up  something,  dearie,  if  you're  afraid  to  tell 
the  truth.  Why,  what's  the  matter?" 

Penelope's  face  had  changed  startlingly,  and  was 
now  overcast  by  sombre  memories — by  fears.  Why 
had  those  lightly  spoken  words  moved  her  so 
strangely?  Afraid  to  tell  the  truth!  Was  she  afraid? 
With  sinking  heart  she  recalled  that  message  of  Sera- 
phine's  exalted  spirit — Penelope  must  cleanse  her  soul 
of  evil! 

But — had  she  not  cleansed  her  soul  already?  Had 
she  not  confessed  the  truth  about  her  longing  for  a 
child?  And  written  it  down  in  her  diary  and  prayed 
God  to  forgive  her?  Was  not  that  enough?  Why 
should  this  pressure  to  confess  more  be  put  upon  her? 
Could  it  be  that  frivolous,  selfish  Roberta  Vallis  was 
the  unconscious  agent  of  some  fateful  power  urging 
Penelope  Wells  to  look  into  her  soul  again? 

Suddenly,  in  a  flash  of  new  understanding,  Mrs. 
Wells  decided.  This  was  no  longer  a  trifling  incident, 
but  a  happening  of  deep  spiritual  import.  She  was 
struggling  desperately  for  health — for  happiness. 
Perhaps  this  was  her  way  of  salvation,  if  she  could 


THE  CONFESSIONAL  CLUB  93 

only  bring  herself  to  say  the  one  thing  that — that 
ought  to  be  said.  After  all,  the  opinion  of  these  care 
less  Bohemians  mattered  little — it  was  God's  opinion 
that  mattered. 

"Do  you  mind  if  I  bring  Seraphine  to  the  party?" 
Penelope  asked  with  a  far-away  look  in  her  eyes. 

"Of  course  not — we'll  be  glad  to  have  her." 

"All  right,  Bobby.  I  will  make  a  confession.  There 
is  something  I  want  to  confess.  I  don't  know  just  the 
details,  but — yes  I  do,  too,  it's  about "  she  hesi 
tated,  but  went  on  with  strengthening  resolve,  "it's 
about  a  trip  I  made  once  on  a  Fall  River  steamboat." 

Roberta's  eyes  danced  at  this  prospect. 

"Splendid,  Pen!  We'll  have  yours  last — just  before 
the  supper." 

And  so  it  came  about  that  it  was  Penelope  herself 
who  set  into  action  forces  of  the  mind  or  the  soul, 
memories  and  fears  that  were  to  change  her  whole  fu 
ture. 

We  need  take  no  account  of  the  other  confessions 
(except  one),  tinsel  or  tawdry  fragments  from  the 
drift-wood  of  life,  that  were  offered  blithely  by  three 
or  four  members  of  the  gay  company.  We  are  con 
cerned  with  Penelope's  confession,  and  with  this  only 
as  it  leads  up  to  subsequent  developments  of  the  eve 
ning.  There  was  an  ominous  significance  in  the  fact 
that  Mrs.  Wells  made  this  confession  before  the  man 
she  loved.  Why  did  she  do  that?  Why? 

Penelope  sat  beside  a  Japanese  screen  of  black  and 
gold  on  which  a  red-tongued  dragon  coiled  its  em 
broidered  length  and,  by  the  light  of  a  yellow  lantern 


94  POSSESSED 

just  above  (there  was  also  a  tiny  blue  lantern  that 
flung  down  a  caressing  ray  upon  her  smooth  dark 
hair  and  adorable  shoulders)  she  glanced  at  some  loose 
leaves  taken  from  an  old  diary.  Then,  nerving  her 
self  for  the  effort,  she  began  in  a  low,  appealing  tone, 
but  rather  unsteadily: 

"I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  that — it's  very 
hard  for  me  to  speak  of  this,  but — I  want  to  tell  it.  I 
have  a  feeling  that  if  I  tell  it  I  may  save  myself  and 
someone  who  is  dear  to  me,"  she  looked  down  in  em 
barrassment,  "from — from  a  terrible  danger.  I  feel 
more  deeply  about  this  because — some  of  you  remem 
ber  a  strange  thing  that  happened  four  years  ago  when 
I  was  present  at  a  meeting  of  this  club." 

There  were  murmurs  and  nods  of  understanding 
from  several  of  the  guests  who  settled  themselves  into 
positions  of  expectant  attention. 

"Are  we  to  have  a  second  prophecy,  Mrs.  Walters?" 
inquired  Kendall  Brown  briskly  of  Seraphine,  whose 
haunting  eyes  kept  Penelope  in  loving  watchfulness; 
but  the  medium  made  no  reply. 

"The  second  prophecy  has  already  been  made,  Ken 
dall,"  Mrs.  Wells  answered  gravely.  "I  have  come 
here  tonight  knowing  that  a  disaster  may  result  from 
my  presence.  Seraphine  says  that  a  disaster  will  re 
sult,  but — I  don't  believe  it.  I  can't  believe  it.  What 
harm  is  there  in  my  coming  to  this  party?" 

She  spoke  vehemently  with  increasing  agitation  and 
the  guests  watched  her  with  fascinated  interest. 

"A  disaster?  Tonight?  Extraordinary!  What 
kind  of  a  disaster?" 


THE  CONFESSIONAL  CLUB  95] 

Such  were  the  questions  and  exclamations  called 
forth  by  this  startling  announcement,  and  incredulous 
glances  were  addressed  to  the  psychic;  but  Seraphine 
offered  no  enlightenment.  She  merely  rocked  placidly 
in  her  chair. 

"Go  on,  dear,"  she  said. 

And  Penelope  continued: 

"You  know  I  have  been  ill  since  I  came  back  from 
France.  There  are  symptoms  in  my  illness  that  are — 
peculiar — distressing.  I  have  horrible  fears  that  I 
have  to  fight  all  the  time.  Horrible  dreams,  one  dream 
in  particular  lately  of  a  thing  that  happened  on  a  Fall 
River  steamboat." 

"A  thing  that  really  happened?"  questioned  a  little 
gray-haired  woman. 

"Yes,  it  really  happened  to  me  during  a  trip  that 
I  made  on  this  boat;  and  now,  years  later,  it  continues 
to  happen  in  my  dreams.  It  terrifies  me,  tortures  me, 
for  the  thing  was — it  was  something  wrong  that  I  did. 
I — I  suppose  it  was  a  sin." 

A  sin ! 

There  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice,  a  pathetic  catch 
in  her  breath,  almost  a  sob,  as  she  forced  herself  to 
speak  these  words ;  then  bravely,  pleadingly,  she  lifted 
her  eyes  to  her  beloved. 

Over  the  gay  company  there  came  a  surprised  and 
sympathetic  hush.  Herrick  straightened  awkwardly, 
but  never  flinched  in  his  loyalty  or  fondness — what  an 
ordeal  for  a  lover ! — while  Penelope  paused  as  if  gath 
ering  strength  to  go  on. 


96  POSSESSED 

"May  I  ask  if  this  was  before  you  were  married?" 
queried  the  poet. 

"No." 

"After  you  were  married?" 

"Yes.     My  husband  was  with  me." 

Penelope's  voice  sank  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  the 
unconscious  twining  together  of  her  fingers  bore  wit 
ness  to  her  increasing  distress.  Everyone  in  the  room 
felt  the  poignancy  of  the  moment.  If  the  operation 
of  soul  cleansing  involved  such  stress  as  this,  then  even 
these  heedless  members  of  the  Confessional  Club  drew 
back  disapprovingly. 

"Hold  on,  Pen!"  interposed  Roberta  Vallis  good- 
naturedly,  wishing  to  relieve  this  embarrassment. 
"You're  getting  all  fussed  up.  I  guess  you'd  better 
cut  out  this  story.  I  don't  believe  it's  much  good  any 
way.  If  you  think  there  are  any  sentimental  varia 
tions  on  a  Fall  River  steamboat  theme  that  we  are  not 
fully  conversant  with,  why  you've  got  another  guess 
coming." 

Penelope  wavered  and  again  her  dark  eyes  yearned 
towards  Christopher.  It  was  cruelly  hard  to  go  on 
with  her  story,  yet  it  was  almost  impossible  now  not  to 
tell  it. 

"I  want  to  make  this  confession,"  she  insisted,  strong 
in  her  purpose,  yet  breaking  under  womanly  weakness. 
"I  must  cleanse  my  soul  of — of  evil — mustn't  I?"  her 
anguished  eyes  begged  comfort  of  Seraphine. 

"You  are  right,  dear  child,"  the  medium  answered 
gently,  "but  wait  a  little.  Sit  over  here  by  me.  We 
have  plenty  of  time.  She  took  her  friend's  icy  hand 


THE  CONFESSIONAL  CLUB  97 

in  hers  and  drew  her  protectingly  to  a  place  beside  her 
on  the  sofa. 

"To  cheer  you  up,  Pen,"  laughed  Bobby,  "and  cre 
ate  a  general  diversion,  I'll  tell  a  story  myself — 
you'll  see  the  kind  of  confession  stuff  we  generally  put 
over  in  our  little  group  of  unconventional  thinkers. 
Attention,  folks !  Harken  to  the  Tale  of  Dora  the 
Dressmaker!  Which  proves  that  the  way  of  the  trans 
gressor,  as  observed  on  Manhattan  Island,  is  not  al 
ways  so  darned  hard." 

Then  she  told  her  story  in  the  most  approved  Green 
wich  Village  style,  with  slangy  and  cynical  comments, 
all  of  which  were  received  with  chortles  of  satisfaction 
by  the  men  and  with  no  very  severe  disapproval  by  the 
ladies — except  Seraphine. 

''Dora  was  a  pretty,  frail  looking  girl — but  really 
as  strong  as  a  horse,"  began  Bobby  gleefully,  "one  of 
those  tall  blondes  who  can  pass  off  for  aristocrats  with 
out  being  the  real  thing.  She  came  from  a  small  South 
ern  town  and  had  married  a  man  who  was  no  good. 
He  drank  and  chased  after  women;  and,  in  one  of  his 
drunken  fits,  he  was  run  over  on  a  dark  night  at  the 
railroad  crossing — fortunately." 

Penelope  stirred  uneasily  at  the  memories  in  her  own 
life  conjured  up  by  this  picture. 

"Dora  had  the  usual  small  town  collection  of  wed 
ding  cut  glass  and  doilies,  which  she  put  away  in  the 
attic,  after  husband's  decease;  and,  with  them,  she  also 
put  away  all  respect  and  desire  for  the  married  state. 
She  was  through  with  domesticity  and  all  that  it  rep 
resented,  and  made  up  her  mind  to  devote  the  rest  of 


98  POSSESSED 

her  life  to  earning  as  big  a  salary  as  she  could  and 
having  the  best  time  possible." 

The  rest  of  the  story  was  a  sordid  account  of  this 
girl's  effort  to  combine  business  with  pleasure,  as  men 
do,  and  of  her  startled  discovery  one  day,  just  at  the 
moment  of  her  greatest  success — she  had  been  offered 
the  position  of  head  designer  in  a  wholesale  dress 
house  with  coveted  trips  to  Europe — that  she  was 
about  to  become  a  mother. 

Penelope  sighed  wearily  as  she  listened.  Could  she 
never  escape  from  this  eternal  sex  theme? 

"You  see,"  Bobby  rattled  on,  "Dora  knew  she 
couldn't  go  to  roof  gardens  and  supper  parties  alone, 
and  she  couldn't  keep  a  chap  on  a  string  without  paying 
— so  she  paid.  Of  course  she  camouflaged  this  part  of 
her  life  very  daintily,  as  she  did  everything  else,  but 
going  out  evenings  was  as  important  to  her  as  her 
business  ambition  was." 

Mrs.  Wells  smiled  faintly  at  the  word  camouflaged, 
for  she  knew  better  than  anyone  else  that  this  supposed 
story  of  a  dressmaker  was  really  the  story  of  Roberta 
Vallis  herself,  thinly  disguised. 

"The  point  is  that  after  years  of  living  exactly  like 
a  man,"  Miss  Vallis  became  a  shade  more  serious  here 
and  a  note  of  defiance  crept  into  her  discourse,  "with 
work  and  pleasure  travelling  along  side  by  side,  Dora 
was  called  upon  to  face  a  situation  that  would  have 
brought  her  gay  and  prosperous  career  to  a  sad  and 
shameful  end  in  any  well-constructed  Sunday  School 
book;  but  please  notice  that  it  did  nothing  of  the  sort 
in  real  life.  Did  she  lose  her  job?  She  did  not.  Or 


THE  CONFESSIONAL  CLUB  99 

her  health  or  reputation?  Nothing  like  that.  After 
she  got  over  the  first  shock  of  surprise  Dora  decided 
to  go  through  with  the  thing,  and,  being  tall  and  thin, 
got  away  with  it  successfully.  No  one  suspected  that 
the  illness  which  kept  her  away  from  her  work  was 
anything  but  influenza,  and — well,  the  child  didn't 
live,"  she  concluded  abruptly  as  she  caught  Seraphine's 
disapproving  glance.  "The  point  is  that  Dora  is  today 
one  of  the  most  successful  business  women  in  Boston." 

A  challenge  to  outraged  virtue  was  in  her  tone,  and 
all  eyes  turned  instinctively  to  the  psychic  who  was  still 
rocking  placidly. 

"Poor  woman!"  Seraphine  said  simply,  which 
seemed  to  annoy  Miss  Vallis. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?  Why  is  she  a  poor  woman? 
She  has  everything  she  wants." 

"No!  No  indeed,"  was  the  grave  reply.  "She  has 
nothing  that  she  really  wants.  She  has  cut  herself  off 
from  the  operation  of  God's  love.  She  is  surrounded 
by  forces  that — Oh !"  the  medium's  eyes  closed  for  a 
moment  and  she  drew  a  long  breath,  "my  control  tells 
me  these  forces  of  evil — they  will  destroy  this  girl." 

Roberta  essayed  to  answer  mockingly,  but  the  words 
died  on  her  lips,  and  there  fell  a  moment  of  shivery 
silence  until  Kendall  Brown  broke  the  spell. 

"That  story  of  Dora  is  a  precious  human  docu 
ment,"  was  the  poet's  ponderous  pronouncement.  "It 
is  unpleasant,  painful,  but — what  is  the  lesson?  The 
lesson  is  that  infinite  trouble  grows  out  of  our  rotten 
squeamishness  about  sex  facts.  This  girl  craved  a 
reasonable  amount  of  pleasure  after  her  work,  and  she 


ioo  POSSESSED 

got  it.  She  refused  to  spend  her  evenings  alone  in  her 
room  reading  a  book.  She  wanted  to  dance,  to  enjoy 
the  society  of  men — their  intimate  society.  That 
brings  us  to  the  oldest  and  most  resistless  force  in  the 
world,  a  blessed  force,  a  God-given  force  upon  which 
all  life  depends — you  know  what  I  mean.  And  how 
do  we  deal  with  this  most  formidable  of  forces?  Are 
we  grateful  for  it?  Do  we  acknowledge  its  irresistible 
supremacy?  No!  We  deal  with  it  by  pretending  that 
it  doesn't  exist.  We  say  to  Friend  Dora  that,  being 
unmarried,  she  has  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  sex 
attraction,  except  to  forget  it.  Does  she  forget  it? 
She  does  not.  Do  the  men  allow  her  to  forget  it? 
They  do  not.  And  one  fine  day  Friend  Dora  has  a 
baby  and  everybody  says  horrible,  disgraceful!  Rub 
bish  !  I  maintain  that  the  state  should  provide  homes 
and  proper  care  for  the  children  we  call  illegitimate! 
What  a  word!  I  say  all  children  are  legitimate,  all 
mothers  should  be  honored,  yes,  and  financially  pro 
tected.  A  woman  who  gives  a  child  to  the  nation,  re 
gardless  of  who  the  father  is,  renders  a  distinguished 
service.  She  is  a  public  benefactor." 

uHear,  hear!"  approved  several,  but  the  little  grey- 
haired  woman  objected  that  this  meant  free  love, 
whereupon  Kendall  was  off  again  on  his  hobby. 

"Love  is  free,  it  always  has  been  and  always  will  be 
free.  If  you  chain  love  down  under  smug  rules  you 
only  kill  it  or  distort  it.  I  am  not  arguing  against 
marriage,  but  against  hypocrisy.  We  may  as  well 
recognize  that  sex  desire  is  so  strong  a  force  in  the 
world — that " 


THE  CONFESSIONAL  CLUB  101 

To  all  of  this  Penelope  had  listened  with  ill-con 
cealed  aversion,  now  she  could  no  longer  restrain  her 
impatience.  "Ridiculous!"  she  interrupted.  "You  ex 
asperate  me  with  your  talk  about  the  compelling  claims 
of  oversexed  individuals.  Let  them  learn  to  behave 
themselves  and  control  themselves." 

"Mrs.  Wells  is  absolutely  right,"  agreed  Captain 
Herrick  quietly,  his  eyes  challenging  Brown.  "If  cer 
tain  men  insist  on  behaving  like  orang-outangs  in  the 
jungle,  then  society  should  treat  them  as  orang 
outangs." 

This  incisive  statement  somewhat  jarred  the  poet's 
self-sufficiency  and  he  subsided  for  the  moment,  but 
jealousy  is  a  cunning  adversary  and  the  rival  awaited 
his  opportunity  for  counter-attack. 

As  the  discussion  proceeded  Kendall  noticed  that  one 
of  the  loose  pages  from  Penelope's  diary  had  fluttered 
to  the  floor  and,  recovering  this,  he  glanced  at  it  care 
lessly,  then  smiled  as  he  plucked  at  his  yellow  beard. 

"Excuse  me,  Mrs.  Wells,"  he  said.  "I  could  not 
help  reading  a  few  words.  Won't  you  go  on  with  your 
confession — please  do.  It  sounds  so  wonderfully  in 
teresting.  See — there — at  the  bottom!"  He  pointed 
to  the  lines. 

"Oh!"  she  murmured  as  she  saw  the  writing,  and 
two  spots  of  color  burned  in  her  cheeks.  "Let  me  have 
it — I  insist!" 

"Certainly.  But  do  read  it  to  us.  This  is  a  real 
human  interest  story.  'Let  me  bow  my  head  in  shame 
and  humble  my  spirit  in  the  dust* — wasn't  that  it?" 
laughed  Kendall  maliciously. 


~io2  POSSESSED 

At  this,  seeing  the  frightened  look  in  Penelope's 
eyes,  Captain  Herrick  stormed  in:  "You  had  no  right 
to  read  those  words  or  repeat  them." 

"I  am  sorry,  Mrs.  Wells.  I  meant  no  offense," 
apologized  the  poet,  realizing  that  he  had  gone  too  far, 
but  the  harm  was  done.  Something  unaccountably 
serious  had  happened  to  Penelope  Wells.  Her  face 
had  gone  deathly  white,  and  Roberta,  suddenly  sym 
pathetic,  hastened  to  her. 

"It's  a  shame  to  tease  you,  dearie.  No  more  con 
fession  stuff.  Now,  folks,  we'll  have  supper — down 
in  the  restaurant.  Then  we'll  dance.  Come  on! 
Feeling  better,  Pen?  What  you  need  is  a  cocktail 
and  some  champagne." 

But  Penelope  lay  like  a  stricken  creature,  her  beau 
tiful  head  limp  against  the  pillow  of  her  chair,  her 
eyes  filled  with  pain. 

"I — I'll  be  all  right  in  a  minute,  Bobby,"  she  whis 
pered.  "Please  go  down  now — all  of  you  except  Cap 
tain  Herrick.  We'll  join  you — a  little  later.  You 
don't  mind?"  she  turned  to  Herrick  who  was  bending 
over  her  anxiously.  Then  she  said  softly:  "Don't 
leave  me,  Chris.  I  don't  feel  quite  like  myself.  I'm 
a  little  frightened." 


CHAPTER  X 

FAUVETTE 

THUS  it  happened  that  Penelope  and  Captain  Her- 
rick  did  not  descend  to  the  flower-spread  supper  room 
where  dancing  and  good  cheer  awaited  the  gay  com 
pany,  but  remained  in  Roberta's  black  and  gold  apart 
ment,  two  lovers  swept  along  by  powers  of  fate  far  be 
yond  their  control,  and  now  facing  the  greatest  emo 
tional  moment  of  their  lives. 

The  catastrophe  came  gradually,  yet  at  the  end  with 
startling  suddenness. 

At  first,  when  they  were  alone,  Penelope  seemed  to 
recover  from  her  distress  and  began  to  talk  naturally 
and  serenely,  as  if  her  preceding  agitations  were  for 
gotten.  She  told  Christopher  that  Dr.  Owen's  wise 
counsels  had  reassured  her,  and  she  now  felt  confident 
that  her  bad  dreams  and  other  disturbing  symptoms 
would  soon  leave  her. 

"You  see  something  has  conquered  all  my  sadness, 
all  my  fears,"  she  looked  at  him  shyly. 

For  a  moment  he  sat  motionless,  drinking  in  her 
splendid  beauty;  then  he  leaned  towards  her  impul 
sively  and  spoke  one  word  that  carried  all  the  devo 
tion  of  his  soul :  "Penelope!" 

103 


104  POSSESSED 

"Dear  boy!"  she  murmured,  her  voice  thrilling,  and 
a  moment  later  he  had  clasped  her  in  his  arms. 

"You're  mine !    You  love  me !    Thank  God  1" 

But  she  disengaged  herself  gently,  there  was  some 
thing  she  wished  to  say.  She  would  not  deny  her  love, 
her  great  love  for  him.  She  realized  that  she  had 
loved  him  from  the  first.  Her  resistance  had  been  part 
of  her  illness — it  was  not  coquetry,  he  must  not  think 
that.  Now  her  eyes  were  opened  and  her  heart  was 
singing  with  joy.  She  was  the  happiest  woman  in  the 
world  at  the  thought  that  she  was  to  be  his  wife. 

"My  darling!  How  I  love  you!"  exclaimed  Chris 
topher,  drawing  her  towards  him,  his  lips  seeking  hers. 

"No — no,"  Penelope's  voice  was  so  serious,  so  full 
of  alarm  that  her  lover  instantly  obeyed.  He  drew 
away  from  her  with  a  hurt,  puzzled  expression  in  his 
eyes.  Very  gravely  Penelope  went  on.  "I  love  you, 
too,  my  darling,  but  I  must  ask  you  to  make  me  a  sol 
emn  promise.  I  shall  be  most  unhappy  if  you  refuse. 
I  want  you  to  promise  not  to  kiss  me, — as — as  lovers 
kiss,  passionately,  ardently,  until  after  we  are  mar 
ried." 

"But,  Pen,  you — can't  mean  that  seriously?" 

With  a  wistful  little  smile  she  assured  him  that  she 
did  mean  it  most  seriously. 

In  vain  he  protested.  "But  why?  It's  so  absurd! 
Why  shouldn't  I  kiss  you  when  I  love  you  better  than 
anything  in  the  world." 

"Chris,  please,  please  don't  talk  like  that.  You  must 
trust  me  and  do  what  I  ask.  You  must,  dear!" 

A  pathetic  earnestness  in  her  tone  and  a  strange  look 


FAUVETTE  105 

in  her  eyes  made  Christopher  forget  his  privileges, 
and  he  made  the  promise. 

"Thank  you,  dear.  Now  I  must  tell  you  something 
else,"  she  went  on.  "I  must  explain  why  I  was  so 
disturbed  when  Kendall  Brown  read  those  words  from 
my  diary.  I  must  tell  you  what  they  meant." 

But  a  masterful  gesture  from  Herrick  stopped  her. 
He  did  not  wish  to  know  anything  about  this.  He 
trusted  her  entirely,  he  approved  of  her  entirely,  they 
must  never  speak  of  these  old  sad  things  again. 

Tears  of  gratitude  suddenly  filled  her  eyes 

"Take  this,  dear,  it  belonged  to  my  mother,"  she 
said  fondly  and  gave  him  a  circlet  of  twisted  dolphins 
and  he  put  it  on  his  finger.  Then  he  gave  her  a  brown 
seal  ring,  engraved  with  old  Armenian  characters. 

"I  got  it  in  Constantinople,  Pen.  It's  a  talisman. 
It  will  bring  us  luck." 

They  talked  on,  forgetful  of  the  supper  party  down 
stairs,  until  a  waiter  came  with  cocktails  and  cham 
pagne  that  Roberta  had  sent  up,  but  Penelope  would 
have  none  of  these,  saying  that  her  love  was  too  great 
to  need  stimulation. 

"I  must  drink  to  your  health,  dear,"  said  Herrick, 
and  pouring  out  the  bubbling  liquid,  he  offered  her  a 
glass,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

"No?  Not  even  a  sip?  All  right,  sweetheart.  I'll 
pledge  you  the  finest  toast  in  the  world,"  he  lifted  his 
goblet.  "My  love!  My  wife!" 

As  Christopher  set  down  his  glass  and  turned  to 
clasp  his  beloved  in  his  arms,  he  realized  that  there 
was  a  curious  change  in  her  face,  a  subtle,  an  almost  in- 


io6  POSSESSED 

distinguishable  change — the  sweet  radiance  had  gone. 
It  was  the  word  wife  that  had  stabbed  Penelope  with 
unforgetable  memories  and  brought  back  her  impulse 
to  confess.  Once  more  she  tried  to  tell  the  story  of 
that  tragic  steamboat,  but  Christopher  firmly  and  good- 
naturedly  refused  to  listen.  Whatever  she  had  done, 
her  life  had  been  a  hundred  times  finer  and  nobler 
than  his.  Not  that  he  had  any  great  burden  on  his 

conscience,  but — well With  a  chivalrous  idea  of 

balancing  scores,  he  mentioned  that  there  had  been 
one  or  two  things  that — er — and  his  embarrassment 
grew. 

Penelope's  eyes  caressed  him.  "I'm  so  glad,  Chris, 
if  there  is  something  for  me  to  forgive.  Is  it — is  it 
a  woman  story?" 

"Well,  yes." 

"Tell  me.  I  won't  misjudge  you,  dear,"  she  spoke 
confidently,  although  a  shadow  of  pain  flitted  across 
her  face.  Then  he  began  to  tell  of  a  hotel  flirtation — 
a  young  woman  he  had  met  one  night  in  Philadelphia. 
She  wasn't  so  very  pretty,  but — her  husband  had  treat 
ed  her  like  the  devil  and — she  was  very  unhappy  and — 
they  had  rather  a  mad  time  together. 

Christopher  spoke  in  brief,  business-like  sentences 
as  if  desiring  to  get  through  with  a  painful  duty,  but 
Penelope  pressed  him  for  details. 

"What  was  her  name — her  first  name?" 

"Katherine." 

"Did  you  have  supper  with  her — did  she  drink?" 

"Yes." 


FAUVETTE  107 

"Was  she — how  shall  I  say  it? — an  alluring 
woman?  Did  she  have  a  pretty  figure? 

The  soldier  looked  at  his  sweetheart  in  surprise  and, 
without  answering,  he  struck  a  match  and  meditatively 
followed  the  yellow  flame  as  it  consumed  the  wood. 
Penelope  watched  his  well-shaped,  well-kept  hands. 

"Did  she?" 

"I — I  suppose  so.  What  difference  does  that  make? 
Do  you  mind  if  I  smoke?'5 

"Of  course  not."  She  took  a  cigarette  from  his  sil 
ver  case.  "I'll  have  one  with  you — from  the  same 
match!  Folia!"  She  inhaled  deeply  and  blew  out  a 
grey  cloud.  "Tell  me  more  about  Katherine." 

His  frown  deepened. 

"Poor  woman!  She  was  reckless.  I  am  sure  she 
had  never  done  a  thing  like  this  before.  I  hadn't 
either.  I  don't  mean  that  I've  been  an  angel,  Pen, 
but "  he  paused,  then,  with  a  flash  of  self-justifica 
tion:  "I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  in  the  main  I 
have  not  done  that  sort  of  thing." 

She  caught  his  hand  impulsively.  "I  know  you 
haven't.  I'm  so  glad.  Now  I  will  drink  to — to  you." 
She  rose  and  stood  before  him,  a  lithe  young  creature 
vibrant  with  life.  "Touch  your  glass  to  mine.  My 
dear  boy!  My  Christopher!" 

They  drank  together. 

Then  Herrick  resumed  his  explanation.  "I  must 
tell  you  a  little  more,  darling.  You  see  I  was  sorry 
for  this  woman,  her  story  was  so  pathetic.  I  wanted 
to  help  her,  if  I  could,  not  to  harm  her.  So  I  sug 
gested  that  we  each  make  a  pledge  to  the  other " 


io8  POSSESSED 

He  was  intensely  in  earnest,  but  Penelope's  eyes  were 
now  dancing  in  mockery. 

"Oh  you  reformer!  You  ridiculous  boy!"  she 
laughed. 

"It's  true,  I  assure  you." 

"I  don't  believe  it.  What  was  the  pledge?  No, 
don't  tell  me !  Tell  me  if  you  kept  it." 

He  moved  uneasily  under  her  searching  gaze,  but 
did  not  answer. 

"Did  you  keep  your  pledge?"  she  insisted. 

"Yes." 

"For  how  long?" 

He  shifted  again  uncomfortably. 

"For  several  months,"  he  began,  "but  I  must  ad 
mit " 

"No,  no!"  she  interrupted  with  a  swift  emotional 
change.  "Don't  admit  anything.  It  was  wicked  of  me 
to  mock  you.  Come,  we  will  drink  to  the  lady  in  Phil 
adelphia  !  Fill  the  glasses !  To  Katherine  I  And 
poor,  weak  human  nature!  Katherine!  And  all  our 
good  resolutions!" 

Pen's  eyes  teased  her  lover  with  a  gay  diablerie  as 
she  slowly  emptied  her  glass,  and  Herrick's  heart  quick 
ened  at  the  realization  that  this  beautiful  woman  be 
longed  to  him — she  belonged  to  him.  At  the  same  time 
he  was  conscious  of  a  vague  uneasiness  under  the  in 
creasing  allurement  of  her  glances.  Were  there  ever 
such  eyes  in  the  world  ?  Was  there  ever  such  a  woman  ? 
Adorable  as  a  saint,  dangerous  as  a  siren! 

"There  is  one  pledge  I  will  never  break,  Pen,"  he 


FAUVETTE  109 

said  tenderly.  "I'll  never  fail  to  do  every  possible 
thing  to  make  you  happy." 

"Will  you  take  me  back  to  Paris,  Chris?  I  want 
to  spend  a  whole  year  in  Paris  with  you.  We'll  go  to 
fine  hotels  along  the  Champs  filysees,  we'll  prowl 
through  those  queer  places  in  Montmartre,  remember? 
and  once  you'll  take  me  to  a  students'  ball,  won't  you, 
dear?  I'd  love  to  dance  at  a  students'  ball — with 
you!"  Her  eyes  burned  on  him  under  fluttering  black 
lashes — such  long  curling  lashes !  "Let's  drink  to 
Paris — toi  et  moi,  tons  les  deux  ensemble,  pas? 
Come !"  She  snatched  up  her  glass  again  and  emptied 
it  quickly. 

A  spirit  of  wild  gaiety  and  abandon  had  caught 
Penelope — there  was  no  restraining  her.  They  must 
sit  on  the  divan  under  that  dull  blue  light,  and  talk  of 
their  love — their  wonderful  love  that  had  swept  aside 
all  barriers — while  she  smoked  another  cigarette. 
Christopher  forgot  to  be  afraid — he,  too,  was  young! 
Five  la  joief 

She  nestled  close  to  him  against  the  pillows  and,  as 
they  talked  in  low  tones,  he  drew  her  closer,  breathing 
the  perfume  of  her  hair.  She  caught  his  hand  and 
clung  to  it,  then  slowly,  restlessly,  her  fingers  moved 
along  his  arm. 

"My  love!     My  love!"  she  whispered. 

"Sweetheart!"  he  looked  deep  into  her  soul,  his 
heart  pounding  furiously. 

"It  was  horrid  of  me,  Chris,  to  make  you  promise — 
that,"  she  bent  close  offering  him  her  lips. 

"Promise  what?"  he  asked  unsteadily. 


no  POSSESSED 

"Oh,  Chris,"  she  whispered  and  her  soft  form 
seemed  to  envelope  him.  "I  am  yours,  yours!" 

Then  silence  fell  in  the  room  while  she  pressed  her 
eager  mouth  to  his. 

"Penelope!"  he  thrilled  deliriously. 

"Don't  call  me  Penelope.  It's  so  prim  and  old  fash 
ioned.  I  told  you  what  to  call  me — Fauvette.  That's 
the  name  I  like.  Fauvette !  I  am  your  Fauvette.  Say 
it." 

Her  eyes  consumed  him. 

Christopher  realized  his  danger,  but  he  was  power 
less  against  the  spell  of  her  beauty. 

"My  Fauvette!"  he  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"Ah!  Ah!  Mon  chert!  Wait!"  Swiftly  she 
turned  off  the  lights,  then  darted  back  to  him  in  the 
darkness. 

At  this  moment  of  supreme  crisis  the  door  of  the 
apartment  opened  slowly  and,  as  the  light  streamed  in, 
a  figure  entered  that  came  like  a  gentle  radiance.  It 
was  Seraphine. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   EVIL   SPIRIT 

PENELOPE  sprang  up  from  the  divan  panting  with 
anger.  Her  hair  was  dishevelled.  Her  bare  shoulders 
gleamed  in  the  shadows.  She  glared  at  Seraphine. 

"How  dare  you  come  in  here?"  she  demanded  in 
solently.  "What  do  you  want  here?" 

With  a  smile  of  infinite  compassion  Mrs.  Walters 
approached  like  a  loving  mother.  "My  child!  My 
dear  child!"  she  said  tenderly. 

But  the  mad  young  creature  repulsed  her.  "No, 
no!  I  hate  you!  Go  away!" 

The  new-comer  turned  reassuringly  to  Captain  Her- 
rick.  "I  am  Penelope's  friend — Seraphine." 

"Ha !  Seraphine !  I  am  Fauvette !  What  do  I 
care  for  you?"  The  frantic  one  snapped  her  fingers 
at  the  other  woman. 

"Penelope!"  pleaded  Christopher,  shocked  at  her 
violence. 

She  turned  on  him  in  fury.  "You  fool!  You 
wouldn't  take  the  chance  I  offered  you." 

"I  will  quiet  her,"  said  Mrs.  Walters  to  Herrick. 
"Don't  be  alarmed." 

"You  can't  quiet  me.  I'll  say  anything  I  damn 

in 


ii2  POSSESSED 

please.  Go  on,  quiet  me!  Quiet  Fauvette!  I'd  like 
to  see  you  do  it.  Ha,  ha,  ha!"  Her  wild  laughter 
rang  through  the  apartment. 

Christopher's  face  was  tense  with  alarm  and  dis 
tress.  "What  can  I  do?  What  is  the  matter  with 
her?"  he  appealed  to  Seraphine. 

"She  is  ill.  She  is  not  herself,"  was  the  grave  reply. 
"I'll  call  Dr.  Owen;  I'll  tell  him  to  come  at  once." 

He  hurried  out  of  the  room  and  the  two  women 
faced  each  other. 

Fauvette  sank  back  on  the  divan  and  lay  there  in 
sullen  defiance.  "Now  we're  alone — you  and  I.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  was  her  harsh  chal 
lenge. 

The  psychic  did  not  answer,  but  her  lips  moved  as  if 
in  prayer;  then  she  spoke  sternly,  her  deep  eyes  widen 
ing:  "I  see  your  scarlet  lights,  your  sinister  face." 

From  the  shadowy  corner  Fauvette  sneered:  "I 
see  your  soft,  sentimental  Christmas  card  face.  I'm 
not  afraid  of  you.  I  laugh  at  you."  And  peals  of 
shrill,  almost  satanic,  laughter  rang  through  the  room. 

Seraphine  advanced  slowly,  holding  out  her  hands. 

"I  know  your  ways,  creature  of  darkness.  I  com 
mand  you  to  leave  this  pure  body  that  you  would  de 
file." 

And  fierce  the  answer  came:  "No!  Damn  you! 
You  are  not  strong  enough  to  drive  me  out." 

"Think  of  the  tortures  you  are  preparing  for  your 
self." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  my  tortures." 


THE  EVIL  SPIRIT  113 

"Have  pity  on  Penelope.  It  will  be  counted  in  your 
favor." 

There  were  snarling  throat-sounds,  then  these  men 
acing  words:  "No!  I'm  going  to  put  Penelope  out 
of  business." 

"Where  is  Penelope  now?" 

"She  is  sleeping.    Poor  nut!" 

"She  knows  nothing  about  Fauvette?" 

"Nothing." 

"She  remembers  nothing  that  Fauvette  says?" 

"Nothing." 

There  was  a  long  silence  in  the  darkened  room  while 
Seraphine  prayed. 

"You  know  very  well  that  Dr.  Leroy  can  drive  you 
out,"  she  said  presently. 

"He  can't  do  it.  Let  him  try.  Nobody  can  drive 
me  out.  Besides,  you  won't  get  Dr.  Leroy." 

"Why  not?" 

"This  other  doctor  won't  have  him." 

"Dr.  Owen?" 

"Yes.  I  know  damned  well  how  to  fix  him.  I'll  tell 
him  some  things  that  will  make  him  sit  up  and  take 
notice." 

"How  do  you  mean  you  will  fix  him?" 

"Never  mind.  You'll  see.  If  I  can't  have  Herrick, 
Penelope  is  never  going  to  have  him." 

The  medium  closed  her  eyes  and  seemed  to  listen. 
"You  mean  Penelope  will  never  have  him  because  of 
something  you  are  going  to  tell  Dr.  Owen — something 
about — about  chemistry?"  she  groped  for  the  word. 

"Ye-es,"  unwillingly. 


ii4  POSSESSED 

"Dr.  Owen  will  not  believe  you." 
"He  will  believe  me." 

"No!"  declared  Seraphine  dreamily.     "There  are 
greater  powers  than  you  fighting  for  Penelope." 


CHAPTER  XII 

X  K  C 

WE  come  now  to  what  has  been  regarded  by  some 
authorities  as  the  most  remarkable  feature  in  the  case 
of  Penelope  Wells,  a  development  almost  without  par 
allel  in  the  records  of  abnormal  psychology.  All  books 
on  this  subject  record  instances  of  jealousy  or  hostility 
between  two  recurring  personalities  in  the  same  indi 
vidual.  A  woman  in  one  personality  writes  a  letter 
that  humiliates  her  in  another  personality.  A  little 
girl  eats  a  certain  article  of  food  while  in  one  person 
ality  simply  because  she  knows  that  her  other  person 
ality  hates  that  particular  food.  And  so  on.  It  al 
most  never  occurs,  however,  that  an  evil  personality 
will  commit  an  act  or  a  crime  that  is  abhorrent  to  the 
individual's  fundamental  nature.  Neither  through 
hypnotism  nor  through  any  manifestation  of  a  dual 
nature  will  a  person  become  a  thief  or  a  murderer 
unless  there  is  really  in  that  person  a  latent  tendency 
towards  stealing  or  killing.  There  is  always  some 
germ  of  Mr.  Hyde's  bloodthirstiness  in  the  benevo 
lence  of  Dr.  Jekyll. 

But  Penelope  Wells,  under  the  domination  of  her 
Fauvette  personality,  now  entered  upon  a  course  that 
was  certain  to  bring  disgrace  and  sorrow  upon  a  man 

"5 


n6  POSSESSED 

she  loved  with  all  her  heart,  a  man  for  whom  she 
had  risked  her  life  on  the  battle  field.  Here  is  one  of 
those  mysteries  that  will  not  be  cleared  up  until  we 
better  understand  these  strange  and  distressing  phe 
nomena  of  the  sick  brain  or  the  sick  soul. 

In  presenting  this  development  it  must  be  mentioned 
that  Dr.  William  Owen  was  not  only  a  specialist  on 
nervous  diseases  but  a  chemist  of  wide  reputation  in 
the  field  of  laboratory  investigation.  For  a  year  and 
a  half  preceding  the  end  of  the  war  he  had  held  a 
major's  commission  in  the  army  and  had  spent  much 
time  in  a  government  research  laboratory,  studying 
poison  gases. 

In  August,  1918,  he  had  discovered  a  toxic  product 
of  extraordinary  virulence,  not  a  gas,  but  a  tasteless 
and  odorless  liquid  containing  harmful  bacteria.  These 
bacteria  showed  great  resistance  against  heat  and  cold 
and  were  able  to  propagate  and  disseminate  themselves 
with  incredible  rapidity  through  living  creatures,  rats, 
earth  worms,  birds,  cattle,  dogs,  fleas,  that  might  feed 
upon  them  or  come  in  contact  with  them.  The  deadli- 
ness  of  this  product  was  so  great,  as  appeared  from 
laboratory  tests,  that  it  was  believed  all  human  life 
might  be  exterminated  in  a  region  intensively  inocu 
lated  (from  airplanes  or  guns)  with  the  liquid.  This 
was  only  a  possibility,  but  it  was  an  enormously  impor 
tant  possibility. 

A  report  on  this  formidable  discovery  had  been  pre 
pared  by  Dr.  Owen  for  the  Washington  authorities 
with  such  extreme  secrecy  that  the  chemical  formula 
for  the  liquid  had  been  indicated  simply  by  the  letters 


X  K  C  117 

X  K  C,  the  product  being  referred  to  as  X  K  C  liquid. 
Moreover,  the  only  person,  except  Dr.  Owen,  in  pos 
session  of  the  full  facts  touching  this  discovery  was 
Captain  Herrick  who  had  assisted  the  doctor  in  his 
investigations.  Herrick  had  been  cautioned  to  guard 
this  secret  as  he  would  his  life,  since  there  was  in 
volved  in  it  nothing  less  than  the  possibility  of  pre 
venting  future  wars  through  the  power  of  its  potential 
terribleness. 

The  bearing  of  all  this  upon  our  narrative  was  pres 
ently  made  clear  as  the  conflict  developed  between  tor 
tured  Penelope  and  the  psychic  in  Roberta  Vallis' 
studio. 

For  some  moments  the  two  women  eyed  each  other 
in  hostile  silence,  which  was  broken  presently  by  the 
sound  of  footsteps  in  the  hall. 

"Ah!  Here  comes  your  doctor!"  mocked  the  fair 
creature  on  the  divan.  "Now  watch  Fauvette!" 

The  door  opened  and  Dr.  Owen,  followed  by  Her 
rick,  both  grave-faced,  entered  the  apartment. 

Christopher  turned  anxiously  to  Seraphine :  "What 
has  happened?  Is  she  better?" 

Mrs.  Walters  shook  her  head,  but  when  the  young 
officer  looked  at  Penelope  his  fears  were  lessened,  for 
she  (was  it  from  dissimulation  or  weariness?)  gave 
no  indication  of  her  recent  frenzy,  but  seemed  to  be 
resting  peacefully  against  the  cushions. 

"Let's  have  a  little  more  light  here,"  said  Dr.  Owen, 
and  he  turned  on  the  electrics.  "I'm  afraid  you  have 
overtaxed  your  strength,  Mrs.  Wells." 

Penelope  answered  gently  with  perfect  self-posses- 


sion:  "I'm  afraid  I  have,  doctor,  I'm  sorry  to  give 
you  so  much  trouble."  And  she  smiled  sweetly  at 
Herrick. 

The  specialist  drew  up  a  chair  and  studied  his  pa 
tient  thoughtfully.  There  was  an  added  austerity  in 
his  usual  professional  manner. 

"Captain  Herrick  tells  me  that  you  made  some 
rather  strange  remarks  just  now?"  he  said  tenta 
tively. 

Mrs.  Wells  met  him  with  a  look  of  half  amused  un 
derstanding. 

"Did  I?"  she  answered  carelessly,  and  as  she  spoke 
she  took  up  a  pencil  and  made  formless  scrawls  on  a 
sheet  of  paper.  "I  suppose  he  refers  to  my  calling 
him  a  fool.  It  is  a  little  unusual,  isn't  it?" 

She  laughed  in  a  mirthless  way. 

"Why  did  you  do  it?" 

"I  haven't  any  idea." 

"And  you  spoke  unkindly  to  Seraphine?  That  isn't 
like  you." 

"No?  How  do  you  know  what  I  am  like?"  she  an 
swered  quickly,  her  hand  still  fidgetting  with  the 
pencil. 

Dr.  Owen  observed  her  attentively  and  did  not  speak 
for  some  moments.  Seraphine  and  Christopher  drew 
their  chairs  nearer,  as  if  they  knew  that  the  tension  of 
restraint  was  about  to  break. 

"You  must  realize  that  you  have  been  under  a  great 
strain,  Mrs.  Wells,"  resumed  the  doctor,  "and  you 
are  tired — you  are  very  tired." 

Her  answer  came  dreamily,  absent-mindedly:  "Yes, 


X  K  C  119 

I  am  tired,"  and,  as  she  spoke,  Penelope's  tragic  eyes 
closed  wearily.  But  her  fingers  still  clutched  the  pen 
cil  and  continued  to  move  it  over  the  white  sheet. 

"Look!"  whispered  Seraphine,  "she  is  making  let 
ters  upside  down." 

"That's  queer!"  nodded  Owen.  "She  is  writing 
backwards — from  right  to  left.  Hello !"  He  started 
in  surprise  as  he  saw,  on  bending  closer,  that  Penelope 
had  covered  the  sheet  with  large  printed  letters — 
X — K — C,  written  over  and  over  again. 

Greatly  disturbed,  Dr.  Owen  roused  his  patient  and 
questioned  her  about  this ;  but  she  insisted  that  she  had 
no  idea  what  she  had  written  or  what  the  letters  meant. 
A  little  later,  however,  she  acknowledged  that  this  was 
not  true. 

"What !  You  did  know  what  you  wrote  ?"  the  scien 
tist  demanded.  His  whole  manner  had  changed.  His 
eyes  were  cold  and  accusing.  He  was  no  longer  a  sym 
pathetic  physician  tactful  towards  the  whims  of  a  pretty 
woman,  but  a  major  in  the  United  States  Army  defend 
ing  the  interests  of  his  country. 

"This  is  a  very  serious  matter,  Mrs.  Wells,  please 
understand  that.  You  told  me  just  now  that  you  did 
not  know  what  you  wrote  on  the  sheet  of  paper?" 

Penelope  faced  him  scornfully.  Her  cheeks  were 
flushed.  Her  bosom  heaved. 

"I  said  that,  but  it  wasn't  true.  I  lied  to  you.  I 
did  know  what  I  wrote." 

"You  know  what  those  letters  mean?" 

"Yes,  I  do!" 

"What  do  they  mean?" 


120  POSSESSED 

"They  mean  some  kind  of  poison  stuff  that  you  have 
made  for  the  army." 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"He  told  me,"  she  turned  to  Captain  Herrick  who 
had  listened  in  dumb  bewilderment. 

"How  can  you  say  such  a  thing?"  Chris  protested. 

"Because  it's  true,"  she  flung  the  words  at  him  de 
fiantly. 

The  young  officer  went  close  to  her  and  looked 
searchingly  into  her  eyes. 

"Think  what  you  are  saying,"  he  begged.  "Re 
member  what  this  means.  Remember  that " 

She  cut  in  viciously :  "You  shut  up !  I  have  no  more 
use  for  you.  I  tell  you  it's  true." 

"Don't  believe  her,  doctor,"  interposed  Seraphine: 
"She  is  not  responsible  for  what  she  says." 

"I  am  responsible.  I  know  exactly  what  I  am  say- 
ing." 

"It  is  not  true,  sir,"  put  in  Captain  Herrick.  "May 
I  add  that " 

"Wait!    Why  are  you  confessing  this,  Mrs.  Wells?" 

Like  a  fury  Fauvette  glared  at  Christopher. 

"Because  he  turned  me  down.  I'm  sore  on  him. 
He's  not  on  the  level." 

"Not  on  the  level?  Are  you  speaking  of  him  as  a 
lover  or  an  officer?" 

"Both  ways.     He's  not  on  the  level  at  all." 

"Oh,  Penelope !"  grieved  the  heartbroken  lover. 

She  eyed  him  scornfully.  "You  needn't  Penelope 
me!  I  said  I  have  no  use  for  you.  A  Sunday  school 
sweetheart !  Ha !  I'll  tell  you  something  else,  doctor, 


X  K  C  121 

I'm  not  the  only  one  who  knows  about  your  X  R  C 
stuff." 

"Mrs.  Wells,"  Dr.  Owen  spoke  slowly,  "are  you 
deliberately  accusing  Captain  Herri ck  of  disloyalty?" 

"Yes,  I  am." 

Herrick  stiffened  under  this  insult,  white-faced,  but 
he  did  not  speak. 

"He  meant  to  sell  this  information — for  money," 
she  added. 

"My  God!"  breathed  Christopher. 

"Captain  Herrick  told  you  this?" 

"Yes,  he  did.  He  said  we  would  go  abroad  and 
live  together — like  millionaires.  You  did!  You  know 
damned  well  you  did,"  she  almost  screamed  the  words 
at  Herrick,  then  she  sank  back  on  the  divan  exhausted, 
and  lay  still,  her  eyes  closed. 

The  doctor's  face  was  ominously  set  as  he  turned  to 
his  young  friend. 

"Chris,  my  boy,  I  need  not  tell  you  that  I  cannot 
believe  this  monstrous  accusation.  At  the  same  time, 
I  saw  Mrs.  Wells  write  down  those  letters  that  are 
only  known  to  you  and  to  me.  I  saw  that  with  my 
own  eyes — you  saw  it,  too." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  heard  what  she  said?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Under  the  circumstances,  as  your  superior  officer, 
I  don't  see  how  I  have  any  choice  except  to " 

Here  Mrs.  Walters  interrupted:  "May  I  speak?" 
It  is  still  possible  to  avert  a  great  disaster." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.    "You  have  heard  Mrs. 


122  POSSESSED 

Wells'  confession.  No  power  on  earth  can  prevent 
an  investigation  of  this,"  he  declared  with  military 
finality. 

Seraphine's  lips  moved  in  silent  prayer.  Her  face 
was  transfigured  as  her  eyes  fell  tenderly  upon  the 
white-faced,  tortured  sleeper. 

"No  power  on  earth,  but — God  can  prevent  it,"  she 
murmured  and  moved  nearer  to  Penelope  whose  face 
was  convulsed  as  if  by  a  terrifying  dream.  Then,  with 
hands  extended  over  the  beautiful  figure,  the  psychic 
prayed  aloud,  while  Herrick  and  the  doctor,  caught  by 
the  power  of  her  faith,  looked  on  in  wondering  si 
lence. 

"God  of  love,  let  Thine  infinite  power  descend  upon 
this  Thy  tortured  child  and  drive  out  all  evil  and  wick 
edness  from  her.  Open  the  eyes  of  these  men  so  that 
they  may  understand  and  be  merciful.  Oh,  God,  grant 
us  a  sign!  Let  Thy  light  descend  upon  us." 

Captain  Herrick  has  always  maintained  that  at  this 
moment,  as  he  watched  his  beloved,  his  heart  clutched 
with  horrible  forebodings,  he  distinctly  saw  ( Dr.  Owen 
did  not  see  this)  a  faint  stream  of  bluish  radiance  play 
ing  over  her  from  the  direction  of  Seraphine,  and  en 
veloping  her.  It  is  certain  that  Penelope's  face  im 
mediately  became  peaceful  and  the  convulsive  twitch- 
ings  that  had  shaken  her  body  ceased. 

"Look!"  marvelled  Christopher.  "She  is  smiling 
in  her  sleep." 

Seraphine  turned  to  Dr.  Owen,  with  radiant  coun 
tenance. 

"It  is  God's  sign.     Come !     Penelope  will  awaken 


X  K  C  123 

soon  and  must  find  herself  alone  with  her  lover.  It 
will  be  the  real  Penelope.  You  will  see.  Let  us  draw 
back  into  the  shadows.  You  stay  near  her,"  she  mo 
tioned  to  Herrick,  then  turned  down  the  lights  except 
a  yellow-shaded  lamp  near  the  sleeper. 

"And,  presently,  watching  with  breathless  interest, 
these  three  saw  Penelope  stir  naturally  and  open  her 
eyes. 

"Why,  how  strange!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  must  have 
gone  to  sleep.  Why  did  you  let  me  go  to  sleep,  Chris  ?" 
she  questioned  her  lover,  with  bright,  happy  eyes  in 
which  there  was  no  trace  of  her  recent  perturbations 
of  spirit. 

"It's  all  right,  Pen,"  he  said  reassuringly.  "You 
were  a  little — a  little  faint,  I  guess." 

She  held  out  her  hand  lovingly  and  beckoned  him 
to  her  side. 

"Sit  by  me  here.  I  had  such  a  horrible  dream.  I'm 
so  glad  to  see  you,  dear.  I'm  so  glad  to  be  awake. 
Oh!"  She  started  up  in  embarrassment  as  she  saw 
that  her  dress  was  disarranged.  "What's  the  matter 
with  my  dress  ?  What  did  I  do  ?  What  has  happened  ? 
Tell  me.  You  must  tell  me,"  she  begged  in  confusion. 

"Don't  worry,  sweetheart,"  he  soothed  her.  "It  was 
the  excitement  of  all  that  talk — that  ass  of  a  poet." 

Penelope  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes  in  a  troubled 
effort  to  remember.  It  was  pathetic  to  see  her  groping 
backwards  through  a  daze  of  confused  impressions. 
The  last  clear  thing  in  her  mind  was  exchanging  rings 
with  her  lover.  How  long  had  they  been  here?  What 


i24  POSSESSED 

time  was  it?    What  must  Roberta  think  of  them,  stay 
ing  up  in  her  apartment  all  alone? 

Christopher  assured  her  that  what  Roberta  thought 
(she  and  her  gay  friends  were  still  dancing  down 
stairs)  was  the  very  least  of  his  preoccupations,  and  he 
was  planning  to  turn  his  sweetheart's  thoughts  into  a 
different  channel  when  Seraphine  came  forward  out  of 
the  shadows  followed  by  Dr.  Owen. 

"Why,  Seraphine!"  exclaimed  Penelope  in  astonish 
ment.  "Where  did  you  come  from?  And  Dr.  Owen?" 

Seraphine  greeted  her  friend  lovingly  and  kissed 
her,  but  there  was  unconcealed  anxiety  in  her  voice 
and  manner. 

"Dear  child,  something  very  serious  has  happened. 
You  were  ill  and — Dr.  Owen  came  to  help  you.  Pie 
wants  to  ask  you  some  questions." 

"Yes?"  replied  Penelope,  her  face  paling. 

Then  the  doctor,  with  scarcely  any  prelude  and  with 
almost  brutal  directness,  said:  "Mrs.  Wells,  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  why  you  accused  Captain  Herrick  of  dis 
loyalty." 

Poor  Penelope!  She  could  only  gasp  for  breath 
and  turn  whiter  still.  Accuse  her  dear  Christopher 
whom  she  loved  and  honored  above  all  men  of  any 
wrong  or  baseness!  God  in  heaven!  If  she  had  done 
this  she  wanted  to  die. 

"I — I  didn't,"  she  stammered.  "I  couldn't  do  such 
a  thing." 

But  the  doctor  was  relentless.  "If  what  you  said  to 
me  a  few  minutes  ago  is  true,"  he  went  on  coldly,  "it 
will  be  my  duty,  as  a  major  in  the  United  States  Army, 


X  K  C  125 

to  order  the  arrest  of  Captain  Herrick  for  treason 
against  the  government." 

At  this  startling  assertion  Penelope  fell  back  as  if 
struck  down  by  a  mortal  wound,  and  lay  still  on  the 
couch,  a  pitiful  crumpled  figure.  The  others  gathered 
around  her  apprehensively. 

"You  were  very  harsh,  sir,"  reproached  Herrick. 

"It  was  the  best  thing  for  you  and  for  Mrs.  Wells," 
answered  Dr.  Owen,  bending  over  his  patient,  who  lay 
there  with  dark-circled  eyes  closed,  oblivious  to  her 
surroundings.  "At  least  I  have  no  doubt  as  to  her  sin 
cerity,  I  mean  as  to  the  genuineness  of  this  shock." 

The  doctor  was  sorely  perplexed  as  he  faced  this 
situation.  What  was  his  duty?  Here  was  a  definite 
charge  of  extreme  gravity  made  against  a  young 
man  of  unimpeachable  character  by  the  very  last  per 
son  in  the  world  who  would  naturally  make  such  an 
accusation,  that  is  the  woman  who  loved  him.  Must 
he  assume  that  the  patient's  mind  was  affected?  The 
idea  that  Christopher  Herrick  could  be  capable  of  a 
treasonable  act  was  altogether  preposterous,  a  thing 
that  Owen  rejected  indignantly,  yet  there  was  the  evi 
dence  of  his  own  senses.  Penelope  had  written  those 
letters  that  were  not  known  to  anyone  except  Herrick 
and  himself?  And  she  knew  what  they  meant.  How 
did  she  know?  Was  it  possible  Chris  had  told  her? 

But,  even  so,  why  had  Penelope  betrayed  and  de 
nounced  her  lover? 

At  this  moment  Seraphine  turned  to  the  doctor  in 
gentle  appeal. 


126  POSSESSED 

"Don't  you  see  what  the  explanation  is?"  she  whis 
pered  with  eloquent  eyes. 

"It  seems  to  be  a  case  of  dual  personality,"  he  an 
swered. 

"It's  more  than  that,  doctor." 

The  scientist  moved  impatiently,  then,  remembering 
what  he  had  seen  at  Seraphine's  apartment,  and  the  re 
covery  of  his  wife's  jewels,  he  softened  the  skepticism 
of  his  tone. 

"You  think  it  is  one  of  those  cases  you  told  me  about 
of — possession?  That's  absurd!" 

"Why  is  it  absurd?  Doesn't  the  Bible  speak  of  pos 
session  by  evil  spirits?  Is  the  Bible  absurd?  Did  not 
Christ  cast  out  evil  spirits?" 

"I  suppose  so,  but — times  have  changed." 

"Not  in  the  spirit  world.    Oh  no !" 

"Anyway,  the  thing  is  not  capable  of  proof." 

"Yes,  it  is,  if  you  will  not  shut  your  mind  against  the 
evidence.  Oh,"  she  pleaded,  "if  you  only  had  faith 
enough  to  let  Dr.  Leroy  treat  Penelope !  What  harm 
could  it  do?  You  say  yourself  this  is  a  case  of  dual 
personality.  Do  you  know  how  to  cure  that  trouble? 
Do  you?"  she  insisted. 

"Perhaps  not,"  he  admitted,  "but — that  is  not  the 
only  thing.  It  must  be  made  clear  to  me  how  Mrs. 
Wells  came  into  possession  of  an  extremely  precious 
secret  of  the  war  department. 

The  medium's  face  shone  with  an  inspired  light  as 
she  answered:  "That  is  the  work  of  an  evil  entity, 
doctor,  I  know  what  I  am  saying.  You  must  let  me 
prove  it.  Look  at  that  young  woman — honored  by  all 


X  K  C  127 

the  world."  She  pointed  to  Penelope  resting  peace 
fully.  "Think  what  she  has  done!  Think  of  her 
bravery,  her  kindness,  her  sincerity.  Look  at  Captain 
Herrick — the  soul  of  honor!  You  know  him,  doctor, 
I  tell  you  it  is  impossible  that  these  two  are  guilty 
of  treason." 

Dr.  Owen  could  not  resist  the  power  of  this  appeal. 
He  was  deeply  moved  in  spite  of  himself.  "You  say 
you  can  prove  that  Mrs.  Wells  is  possessed  by  an  evil 
spirit?  How  can  you  prove  it?" 

"Give  me  permission  to  take  Penelope  to  Dr.  Leroy's 
hospital  for  a  few  days — will  you?"  she  begged.  "You 
will  see  for  yourself  that  I  am  right." 

"See  for  myself?  Great  heavens!  You  don't  mean 

to  tell  me  that ?"  the  doctor  stopped  short  before 

the  vivid  memory  of  those  white  shapes  that  this  woman 
once  before  had  so  strangely  evoked. 

Seraphine  stood  silent  in  deep  concentration,  then 
she  said  slowly :  "Yes,  that  is  what  I  mean.  I  believe 
that  God,  for  His  great  purposes,  will  let  you  see 
this  evil  spirit." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

TERROR 

(Statement  by  Seraphine) 

AT  the  request  of  Dr.  William  Owen  I  am  writing 
this  account  of  what  happened  last  night  after  Roberta 
Vallis'  party.  What  happened  during  the  party  was 
terrible  enough,  but  what  came  later,  after  the  doctor 
and  the  guests  had  gone  and  we  three  women  were 
alone  together,  Roberta  and  Penelope  and  I,  was  in 
finitely  worse. 

I  am  told  to  put  down  details  of  the  night,  as  far  as 
I  can  remember  them,  so  that  these  may  be  kept  in 
the  records  of  the  American  Occult  Society.  There 
never  was  a  clearer  case  of  an  evil  spirit  working  de 
structively  against  a  living  person,  although  other  noble 
souls  have  faced  a  similar  ordeal,  especially  returned 
soldiers  and  Red  Cross  workers,  and  some  have  not 
survived  it.  Remember  those  pitiful,  unaccountable 
suicides  of  our  bravest  and  our  fairest.  In  every  case 
there  was  a  reason! 

Penelope  did  not  go  home  after  the  party,  she  was  in 
no  condition  to  do  so,  but  stayed  at  Roberta's,  and  I 
stayed  with  her,  at  least  I  promised  to  stay,  for  I  knew 

128 


TERROR  129 

she  needed  me.  I  knew  that  the  greatest  danger  was 
still  threatening  her. 

When  the  guests  had  gone  we  took  off  our  things 
(Roberta  let  me  have  her  little  spare  room  on  the  mez 
zanine  floor  and  she  gave  Penelope  her  own  big  bed 
room  with  the  old  French  furniture),  then  a  Russian 

singer,  a  tall  blond,  Margaret  G ,  came  in  from 

the  next  apartment  and  we  talked  for  a  long  time.  Pen 
and  Bobby  smoke  cigarettes  and  drank  cordials;  they 
drank  in  a  nervous,  hysterical  way,  as  if  they  felt  they 
must  drink,  and,  strangely  enough,  the  more  they  drank 
the  more  intensely  sober  they  became.  /  understood 
this! 

Such  talk !  Miss  Gordon  had  just  returned  to  Amer 
ica  by  way  of  Tokio.  She  had  been  in  London,  Paris, 
Petrograd,  Cairo;  and,  everywhere,  as  a  result  of  the 
war,  she  said,  she  found  a  mad  carnival  of  recklessness 
and  extravagance.  Everywhere  the  old  standards  of 
decency  and  honor  had  been  set  aside,  greed  and  lust 
were  rampant,  the  whole  human  race  seemed  to  be 
swept  as  with  a  mighty  tide,  by  three  fierce  desires — 
for  money,  for  pleasure,  for  sensuality.  And  God  had 
been  forgotten ! 

I,  who  know  how  hideously  true  this  is,  tried  to  show 
these  women  why  it  is  true,  especially  Penelope,  whose 
eyes  were  burning  dangerously,  but  they  were  not  in 
terested  in  my  moralizing.  "Let  us  eat,  drink  and  be 
merry,  for  tomorrow  we  die,"  mocked  Margaret 

G ,  emptying  her  glass,  and  Roberta  joined  her, 

while  Penelope  hesitated. 

"Wait!    For  God's  sake,  wait!"    I  caught  the  poor 


130  POSSESSED 

child's  arm  and  the  wine  spilled  over  the  carpet.  Never 
shall  I  forget  the  look  in  her  eyes  as  she  drew  back 
her  head  and  faced  me.  I  realized  that  the  powers  of 
evil  were  striving  again  for  the  soul  of  Penelope  Wells. 
Poor,  tortured  child! 

"Why  shouldn't  we  eat,  drink  and  be  merry?"  she 
demanded  boldly,  and  I  was  silent. 

How  could  I  explain  to  this  dear,  misguided  one  that, 
even  as  those  rollicking  words  were  spoken,  I  felt  the 
clutch  of  a  cold  foreboding  that  I  know  only  too  well. 

For  tomorrow  we  die! 

The  Russian  singer  presently  withdrew  as  if  she 
were  annoyed  at  something,  saying  to  Roberta  that  she 
would  see  her  later.  It  seems  they  had  arranged  that 

Roberta  should  pass  the  night  in  Margaret  G 's 

apartment  so  that  Penelope  might  have  the  large  bed 
room. 

It  was  now  after  two  o'clock  and  I  suggested  that 
we  all  needed  sleep,  my  thought  being  for  Penelope; 
but  she  was  aggressively  awake,  and  Roberta,  as  if 
bent  on  further  excitement,  started  a  new  subject  that 
came  like  a  challenge  to  me.  She  began  innocently 
enough  by  putting  her  arm  around  Penelope,  as  she 
sat  on  the  bedside  between  the  draped  curtains — I  never 
saw  her  so  beautiful — and  saying  sweetly:  "You  don't 
know  how  terribly  I'm  going  to  miss  you,  Pen,  when 
you  get  married." 

Married!  That  word,  so  full  of  exquisite  senti 
ment,  seemed  to  stir  only  what  was  evil  in  Penelope. 
Her  face  hardened,  her  eyes  narrowed  cynically. 

"Good  old  Bobby!     I'm  not  so  sure  that  I  shall 


TERROR  131 

marry  at  all.  I'm  a  little  fed  up  with  this  holy  matri 
mony  stuff.  Perhaps  I  want  my  freedom  just  as  much 
as  you  do." 

For  a  moment  I  caught  her  steady  defiant  gaze,  then 
her  eyes  dropped  and  shifted.  I  knew  that  Penelope 
was  gone. 

After  this  outburst  the  other  one  was  restrained 
enough  for  a  time  and  did  not  betray  herself  by  vio 
lent  utterances.  Apparently  she  was  listening  atten 
tively  to  Roberta  Vallis'  views  about  life  and  love  and 
the  destiny  of  woman,  these  views  being  as  extreme  and 
selfish  as  the  most  wayward  nature  could  demand. 

I  realized  that  the  moment  was  critical  and  concen 
trated  all  my  spiritual  power  in  an  appeal  to  Penelope, 
praying  that  God  would  bring  her  back  and  make  her 
heed  my  words.  I  spoke  gently  of  God's  love  for  His 
children  and  said  that  we  need  fear  no  evil  within  us 
or  about  us,  no  dangers  of  any  sort,  if  we  will  learn  to 
draw  to  us  and  through  us  that  healing  and  protecting 
love.  We  can  do  this,  we  must  do  this  by  establishing 
a  love-current  from  God  to  us  and  from  us  to  God,  by 
keeping  it  flowing  just  as  an  electrician  keeps  an  elec 
trical  current  flowing — every  day,  every  hour.  It  is 
not  enough  to  pray  for  God's  love,  we  must  keep  our 
spiritual  connections  right,  exactly  as  an  electrician 
keeps  his  electrical  connections  right,  if  we  expect  the 
current  to  flow.  We  cannot  make  our  electric  lamps 
burn  by  merely  wishing  them  to  burn,  although  there 
is  a  boundless  ocean  of  electricity  waiting  to  be  drawn 
upon.  We  must  know  how  to  tap  that  ocean.  Similar 
ly,  the  power  of  God's  infinite  love  will  not  descend 


132  POSSESSED 

upon  us  simply  because  we  need  it  or  ask  for  it.  We 
must  ask  for  it  in  the  right  way.  We  must  establish 
the  right  love-connections.  We  must  set  the  love- 
current  flowing,  and  keep  it  flowing,  from  God  to  us 
and  from  us  back  to  God;  and  this  can  be  done  only  by 
confessing  our  sins,  by  cleansing  our  hearts  of  evil 
thoughts  and  desires.  Not  even  God  Himself  can 
make  the  sun  shine  upon  those  who  wilfully  hide  in  the 
shadows! 

I  saw  that  they  were  listening  impatiently  and  more 
than  once  Roberta  tried  to  interrupt  me,  but  I  persisted 
and  said  what  I  had  to  say  as  well  as  I  could,  with  all 
the  love  in  my  heart,  for  I  knew  that  my  precious 
Penelope's  fate  was  hanging  in  the  balance. 

When  I  had  finished  Roberta  got  up  from  the  bed 
where  she  had  been  sitting  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

"Now,  then,  it's  my  turn,"  she  began.  I  could  see 
her  eyes  shining  with  an  evil  purpose.  "You've  heard 
her  pretty  little  speech,  Pen.  You've  heard  her  talk 
about  the  wonderful  power  of  God's  love,  and  a  great 
rigamarole  about  how  it  guards  us  from  all  evil,  if  we 
say  our  prayers  and  confess  our  sins  and  so  on.  I  say 
that  is  all  bunk,  and  I  can  prove  it.  Take  women — 
they've  always  said  their  prayers  more  than  men,  al 
ways  confessed  their  sins  more  than  men,  always  been 
more  loving  than  men,  haven't  they?  And  what's  the 
result?  Has  God  protected  them  from  the  evils  of  life 
more  than  men?  He  has  not.  God  has  let  women  get 
the  worst  of  it  right  straight  along  through  the  cen 
turies.  Women  have  always  been  the  slaves  of  men, 
haven't  they? — in  spite  of  all  their  love  and  devotion, 


TERROR  133 

in  spite  of  all  their  prayers  and  tears?  How  do  you 
account  for  that?" 

She  flashed  this  at  me  with  a  wicked  little  toss  of 
her  head  and  Penelope  chimed  in:  "Yes,  I'd  like  to 
know  that  myself."  But,  when  I  tried  to  answer, 
Roberta  cut  me  off  with  a  new  flood  of  violence. 

"I'll  let  you  know  how  I  account  for  it,"  she  went 
on  angrily.  "It's  because  all  the  churches  in  the  world, 
all  the  smug  preachers  in  the  world,  like  you,  have  gone 
on  shooting  out  this  very  same  kind  of  hot  air  that 
you've  been  giving  us ;  and  the  women,  silly  fools,  have 
fallen  for  it.  But  not  the  men!  The  women  have  tried 
to  live  by  love  and  prayer  and  unselfishness;  they  have 
said:  'God's  will  be  done,'  'God  will  protect  us';  and 
what  is  the  result  ?  How  has  God  protected  the  women, 
who  did  believe?  And  how  has  He  punished  the  men 
who  refused  to  believe?  He  has  made  the  men  masters 
of  the  world,  lords  of  everything;  and  He  has  kept  the 
women  in  bondage,  hasn't  He? — in  factory  bondage, 
in  nursery  bondage,  in  prostitution  bondage?  Is  what 
I  say  true,  or  isn't  it  true?  I  ask  you,  I  ask  any  person 
who  has  got  such  a  thing  as  a  clear  brain  and  is  not 
simply  a  mushy  sentimentalist,  is  what  I  say  true?" 

Again  I  tried  to  answer,  but  again  she  cut  me  short 
and  rushed  on  in  a  blaze  of  excitement. 

"So  it  has  been  through  all  the  pitiful  history  of 
women,  until  a  few  years  ago,  the  poor,  foolish  crea 
tures  began  to  wake  up.  At  last  women  are  getting  rid 
of  their  delusions  and  emerging  from  their  slavery — 
why?  Because  they  have  begun  to  imitate  men,  and  go 
straight  after  the  thing  they  want,  the  thing  that  is 


134  POSSESSED 

worth  while,  by  using  their  power  as  women,  and  not 
depending  upon  the  power  of  love  or  the  power  of  God 
or  any  other  power.  Believe  me,  the  greatest  power  in 
the  world  is  the  power  of  women  as  women,  and  we 
may  as  well  use  it  to  the  limit,  just  as  men  would.  We 
can  get  anything  we  want  out  of  men  by  learning  to 
use  this  power,  and,  I  tell  you,  Pen,  there  isn't  anything 
better  in  this  good  old  United  States  than  money.  So 
far  men  have  had  the  money,  they've  ground  it  out  of 
the  poor  and  the  ignorant,  especially  women,  but  now 
women  are  going  after  money  and  getting  it,  just  like 
the  men.  Why  not?  If  I  want  a  sable  coat  and  a 
limousine  and  a  nice  duplex  apartment,  why  shouldn't 
I  have  them,  if  I  can  get  them  without  breaking  the 
law?  And  I  can  get  them;  so  can  you,  Pen,  if  you'll 
play  the  cards  you  hold  in  your  hand.  Haven't  I  done 
it?  You  don't  see  me  eating  in  Childs  restaurants  to 
any  great  extent  these  days,  do  you?  And  I'm  not 
worrying  about  clothes,  or  about  paying  my  rent." 

The  poison  of  her  words  was  stealing  into  Penelope's 
soul  and  defiling  it,  yet  I  was  powerless  to  restrain  her. 

"Listen  to  this,  child,  and  remember  it,  women  are 
the  equals  of  men  today  in  every  line,  and  they're  going 
to  have  their  full  share  of  the  good  things  of  life. 
They're  going  to  have  freedom,  and  that  means  the 
right  to  do  as  they  please  without  asking  the  permis 
sion  of  any  man.  Women  are  going  to  have  their  own 
latch  keys  and  their  own  bank  accounts.  They're  going 
to  cut  off  their  hair  and  put  pockets  in  their  skirts,  and 
have  babies,  if  they  feel  like  it,  or  not  have  them,  if 
they  don't  feel  like  it.  The  greatest  revolution  the 


TERROR  135 

world  has  ever  known  is  going  on  now,  it's  the  revolu 
tion  of  women.  Let  the  men  open  their  eyes !  How 
did  women  get  the  suffrage?  Was  it  by  praying  for  it? 
Was  it  by  the  power  of  love?  Was  it  by  the  mercy  of 
God?  No!  They  got  the  suffrage  by  fighting  for  it, 
by  going  out  and  hustling  for  it,  just  the  way  men  hustle 
for  what  they  want.  If  women  had  depended  on  the 
power  of  God's  love  to  give  them  the  suffrage,  they 
wouldn't  have  got  it  in  a  million  years." 

Of  course,  those  were  not  Roberta's  exact  words,  but 
I  am  sure  I  have  given  the  substance  of  them,  and  I 
cannot  exaggerate  the  defiant  bitterness  of  her  tone. 
She  was  a  powerful  devil's  advocate  and  I  saw  that 
wavering  Penelope  (if  it  still  was  Penelope)  was  deeply 
impressed  by  this  false  and  wicked  reasoning.  She 
looked  at  me  out  of  her  wonderful  eyes — unflinching, 
cruel,  then  the  balance  swung  against  me. 

"I  believe  you  are  right,  Roberta  Vallis,"  she  spoke 
with  raised  forefinger  and  a  show  of  judicial  considera 
tion.  "It's  a  bold  speech  for  a  woman,  I  never  heard 
the  thing  put  that  way  before,  but — I'm  damned  if  I  see 
what  the  answer  is  except " 

"Oh,  Penelope  I"  I  interrupted,  trying  in  vain  to 
reach  her  with  my  eyes. 

"You  shut  up,"  she  answered  spitefully.  "I  said  I'm 
damned  if  I  see  what  the  answer  is  except  your  answer, 
Bobby,  that  women  have  always  been  fools  and  dupes 
— dupes  of  religious  superstition  invented  by  men  for 
the  benefit  of  men  and  never  accepted  by  men." 

Roberta  applauded  this.  "Bravo!  little  one!  I'll 
tell  that  to  Kendall  Brown.  Women  have  always  been 


136  POSSESSED 

dupes  of  religious  superstition  invented  by  men  for  the 
benefit  of  men  and  never  accepted  by  men!  Go  on! 
Tell  us  some  more." 

And  Penelope  went  on,  flinging  aside  all  restraint, 
while  my  heart  sank. 

"Take  my  own  life.  Look  at  it!  I  had  an  ignoble 
husband.  Why  didn't  I  leave  him?  Because  I  was 
loving,  trusting.  I  thought  I  could  save  him.  I  said 
prayers  for  him.  I  asked  God  to  strengthen  him.  And 
what  was  the  result?  The  result  was  that  Julian  not 
only  destroyed  himself,  but  he  destroyed  what  was  best 
in  me.  Did  God  interfere?  Did  God  give  any  mani 
festation  of  His  infinite  love?  Not  so  that  you  could 
notice  it." 

She  paused  with  heaving  bosom  and  then  swept  on  in 
her  mad  discourse. 

"And  then,  when  I  was  left  alone  in  the  world,  what 
happened?  I  went  abroad  as  a  Red  Cross  nurse.  I 
tried  my  best  to  help  in  the  war.  I  took  care  of  the 
wounded — under  fire.  I  bore  every  hardship.  I  said 
my  prayers.  And  God  put  a  curse  upon  me — yes  He 
did.  He  took  all  chance  of  happiness  and  health  and 
love  away  from  me.  He  made  me  do  things  that  I 
never  meant  to  do,  that  I  don't  remember  doing." 

Her  cheeks  were  burning  scarlet,  her  eyes  shone  like 
black  stars.  I  tried  to  stop  her.  "My  darling,  you 
are  ill!" 

"111?  Who  made  me  ill?  God  made  me  ill,  didn't 
He?  That's  my  reward,  isn't  it?  That's  what  has 
come  of  all  my  love  and  faith.  If  that's  what  God  does, 
you  can  have  Him.  I  don't  want  Him.  I'll  go  with 


TERROR  137 

Roberta.  I'll  do  as  Roberta  does — yes,  I  will."  She 
almost  screamed  the  words. 

How  I  prayed  then  for  wisdom! 

"No — no!"  I  said  slowly  but  firmly.  "You  will  not 
go  with  Roberta.  You  will  go  with  me." 

"I  must  say  I  like  your  impertinence,"  Roberta  put 
in,  her  face  white,  her  voice  trembling  with  fury.  "This 
happens  to  be  my  apartment,  Mrs.  Seraphine  Walters, 
and  now  you  can  get  damned  well  out  of  it." 

I  saw  that  I  could  no  nothing  more,  for  Penelope's 
eyes  were  hard  set  against  me.  They  both  wanted  me 
to  go. 

"Good  night.     God  bless  you,  dear,"  I  said. 

"Don't  you  worry  about  God's  blessing  us.  You  can 
tell  Him  the  next  time  you  make  your  report  that  there 
is  a  young  woman  named  Roberta  Vallis  living  at  the 
Hotel  des  Artistes  who  is  getting  along  quite  well, 
thank  you,  without " 

"Don't  say  it,  please  don't  say  it,"  I  begged.  "You 
have  no  idea  what  dangers  are  threatening,  what  evil 
powers  are  about  us — even  now — here." 

She  laughed  in  my  face.  "I  snap  my  fingers  at  your 
evil  powers  and  your  God  of  Love.  I  don't  believe  in 
either  of  them.  I'm  not  afraid  of  either  of  them.  Evil 
powers  !  Ha  !  Let  them  come  if  they  want  to.  Here  ! 
We'll  drink  defiance  to  the  powers  of  evil.  Come  on, 
Pen!" 

"Defiance  to  the  powers  of  evil,"  laughed  my  poor 
soul-sick  Penelope,  lifting  her  glass. 

With  a  shudder  I  watched  these  two  tragically  led 
young  women  as  they  stood  there,  draped  in  white,  and 


138  POSSESSED 

drank  this  sacrilegious  toast;  then,  heavy-hearted,  I 
came  away. 

It  was  nearly  four  o'clock  when  I  reached  my  home 
and  I  was  so  exhausted  by  the  emotions  of  the  night 
that  I  lay  down  without  undressing  and  almost  imme 
diately  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep.  Then,  suddenly,  I 
awoke  with  a  start  of  alarm  and  a  sense  that  a  voice 
had  called  me.  And,  though  my  bedroom  was  dark, 
I  distinctly  saw  a  white  vaporish  form  passing  over  me 
as  if  someone  had  blown  a  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke  in 
my  face.  Once  before  I  had  had  this  experience  of  a 
white  form  passing  over  me — it  was  when  my  mother 
died. 

I  got  up  quickly,  knowing  that  this  was  a  summons, 
and,  as  I  put  on  my  hat  and  cloak,  I  heard  my  control 
telling  me  that  I  must  go  to  Penelope.  I  knelt  down 
and  prayed  that  I  might  not  be  too  late.  Then  I  hur 
ried  back  to  the  hotel  and  got  there  at  half-past  five. 
It  was  still  night. 

A  sleepy  elevator  girl  took  me  up  to  Roberta's  apart 
ment  and  I  found  that  the  door  opened  at  my  touch. 
In  another  moment  I  was  standing  in  the  silent  hall 
looking  down  a  long  passage  that  led  to  Penelope's 
bedroom.  The  bedroom  door  was  ajar  and  a  dim  light 
from  the  chamber  illumined  the  way  before  me. 

Thus  far  I  had  acted  swiftly,  almost  mechanically, 
knowing  that  I  had  only  one  thing  to  do,  and  I  had 
been  aware  of  no  particular  emotion  except  a  natural 
anxiety;  but  now,  the  moment  I  entered  this  apartment 
and  closed  the  door  behind  me,  I  was  conscious  of  a 
freezing,  paralyzing  fear,  a  sensation  as  real  as  the 


TERROR  139 

touch  of  a  hand  or  the  sound  of  a  bell.  It  was  some 
thing  that  could  not  be  resisted.  I  was  bathed  in  an 
atmosphere  of  terror.  I  was  afraid  to  a  degree  that 
made  my  breath  stop,  my  heart  stop.  .  .  . 

The  passage  leading  to  Penelope's  bedroom  was  not 
more  than  six  yards  long,  but  it  seemed  as  if  it  took 
me  an  hour  to  traverse  it.  I  could  scarcely  force  my 
lagging  steps,  one  by  one,  to  carry  me.  And  every 
hideous  moment  brought  me  the  vision  of  Penelope 
lying  on  that  curtained  bed,  her  beautiful  face  distorted, 
her  eager  young  life — crushed  out  of  her.  Oh  God, 
how  I  prayed ! 

When  at  last  I  came  into  the  bedroom  I  faced  an 
other  struggle.  There  was  absolute  silence.  No  sound 
of  breathing  from  the  bed,  although  I  saw  a  woman's 
form  under  the  sheets.  But  not  her  face,  which  was 
hidden  by  the  curtain.  For  a  long  time  I  stood  beside 
that  bed,  rigid  with  fear,  before  I  found  courage  to 
draw  the  curtain  back.  At  last  I  drew  it  back  and — 
there  lay  Penelope,  sleeping  peacefully,  quite  unharmed. 
I  was  stunned  with  relief,  with  amazement  and — sud 
denly  her  eyes  opened  and  she  gave  a  wild  but  joyful 
cry  and  flung  her  arms  around  my  neck,  sobbing  hysteri 
cally. 

"Oh!  Oh!  My  dear,  dear  Seraphine!  You  came 
to  me.  You  forgave  me.  You  did  not  abandon  your 
poor  Penelope."  She  clung  to  me  like  a  child  in  fran 
tic,  pitiful  terror. 

Then  she  told  me  that  she  too  had  gone  through  a 
frightful  experience.  When  Roberta  had  left  her, 
about  an  hour  before,  to  sleep  in  the  adjoining  apart- 


140  POSSESSED 

ment,  as  they  had  arranged  with  Margaret  G , 

Penelope  had  tried  to  compose  herself  on  her  pillow, 
but  she  had  scarcely  fallen  into  a  doze  when  she  was 
awakened  by  the  same  sense  of  horrible  fear  that  had 
overcome  me.  She  was  about  to  die — by  violence.  An 
assassin  was  coming — he  was  near  her.  She  could 
hardly  breathe.  It  was  almost  beyond  her  power  to 
rise  from  the  bed  and  search  the  apartment,  but  she  did 
this.  There  was  nothing,  and  yet  the  terror  persisted. 
She  huddled  herself  under  the  bed-covers  and  waited, 
saying  her  prayers.  And  when  I  entered  the  apartment 
and  came  down  the  passage — so  slowly,  so  stealthily ! 
— she  knew  it  was  the  murderer  coming  to  kill  her. 
And  when  I  paused  at  her  bedside — how  long  it  was 
before  I  drew  the  curtain! — she  almost  died  again, 
waiting  for  the  blow. 

Of  course  I  did  not  leave  Penelope  after  this,  but 
comforted  her  and  prayed  with  her  and  rejoiced  that 
her  madness  was  past.  Then  we  tried  to  sleep,  locked 
in  each  other's  arms,  but,  shortly  after  six,  there  came 
a  timid  knock  at  the  door  and,  all  of  a  tremble,  Jeanne 
entered,  Penelope's  French  maid  who  had  come  with 
her  mistress  to  Roberta's  party  and  had  occupied  a 
small  room  overhead,  and  she  told  us  with  hysterical 
sobs  that  she  had  not  closed  her  eyes  all  night  for 
ghastly  visions  of  Penelope  murdered  in  her  bed. 

Now  it  is  easy  to  scoff  at  premonitions  and  haunting 
fears,  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  on  this  night  an 
evil  spirit  was  present  in  Roberta's  apartment,  a  hid 
eous,  destructive  entity  that  came  and — wavered  in  its 
deadly  purpose  against  Penelope,  then — manifested  to 


TERROR  141 

Roberta  Fallis  in  the  adjoining  apartment,  for  when  I 
went  in  there  a  little  later  I  found  Roberta — she  who 
had  mocked  God  and  defied  the  powers  of  evil — -I 
found  her  in  her  bed,  her  face  convulsed  with  a  look  of 
indescribable  terror — dead! 

The  hotel  doctor  reported  it  as  a  case  of  heart  fail 
ure,  but  Doctor  William  Owen,  who  has  an  honest 
mind,  acknowledged  that  all  this  was  beyond  his  under 
standing.  This  tragedy  made  him  realize  at  last  that 
there  may  be  sinister  agencies  in  us  and  about  us  that 
cannot  be  dealt  with  by  mere  medical  skill.  And,  at 
my  pleading,  he  directed  that  Mrs.  Wells  be  placed 
immediately  in  the  care  of  Dr.  Edgar  Leroy. 

Thank  God,  my  precious  Penelope  will  receive 
psychic  treatment  before  It  is  too  late.  There  is  no 
other  hope  for  her  but  this. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

POSSESSED 

(From  Penelope's  Diary} 

At  Dr.  Leroy's  Sanitarium. 

I  UNDERSTAND  why  people  kill  themselves.  There 
was  an  hour  last  night,  that  horrible  hour  between  four 
and  five  (I  have  seen  so  many  hospital  patients  die 
then),  when  I  was  resolved  to  kill  myself.  Seraphine 
was  sleeping  in  the  next  room — she  has  not  left  me 
since  I  came  to  this  place  yesterday — and  I  longed  to 
waken  her  for  a  last  talk,  but  decided  not  to.  What 
was  the  use?  I  must  settle  this  for  myself — whether 
It  was  possible  for  me  to  go  on  living  or  not,  I  must 
fight  out  this  battle  alone — with  my  own  soul. 

I  decided  to  kill  myself  because  I  felt  sure,  after 
what  had  happened,  that  I  was  condemned  to  madness. 
This  is  evidently  a  place  where  mad  people  are  treated. 
They, call  it  a  Sanitarium,  but  I  know  what  that  means. 
Serapliine  speaks  of  Dr.  Leroy  (I  have  only  seen  him 
once)  as  a  wonderful  spiritual  healer  and  she  says  I  will 
love  him  because  he  is  so  kind  and  wise;  but  none  of 
this  deceives  me.  I  know  they  have  brought  me  to  a 
place  for  mad  people. 

142 


POSSESSED  143 

Here  is  a  thought  that  makes  me  waver — what  if 
death  is  not  annihilation?  What  if  I  find  myself  in 
some  new  state  where  there  are  other  horrors  and  ter 
rors — worse  than  those  that  I  have  suffered?  The 
Voices  tell  me  this — taunting  me.  And  then  Chris 
topher!  He  loves  me  so  much!  He  will  be  so  sorry, 
if  I  do  this ! 

While  I  was  hesitating — it  was  just  before  dawn — 
Seraphine  came  to  me.  She  talked  to  me,  soothed  me, 
and,  at  last,  she  told  me  the  truth  about  myself.  She 
said  that  all  my  troubles  come  from  this,  that  I  am 
possessed  by  an  evil  spirit !  Literally  possessed!  This 
is  what  she  was  leading  up  to  when  she  told  me  about 
the  great  company  of  earth-bound  souls  that  are  hover 
ing  about  us  since  the  war,  striving  to  come  back! 

The  extraordinary  part  of  it  is  that  I  no  longer  re 
gard  this  as  a  fantastic  impossibility.  I  no  longer  re 
ject  it.  I  am  not  terrified  or  horrified  by  the  thought, 
but  almost  welcome  it,  since  it  offers  an  explanation  of 
what  has  happened  that  does  not  involve  madness.  I 
am  either  possessed  by  an  evil  spirit  or  I  am  mad,  and 
of  these  two  I  prefer  the  evil  spirit.  That,  at  least,  is 
a  definite  cause  carrying  with  it  the  hope  of  a  cure,  for 
we  read  that  evil  spirits  were  cast  out  in  olden  times, 
and  they  may  be  again. 

One  thing  convinces  me  that  what  Seraphine  says  is 
true — I  did  something  at  Roberta's  party  that  my  own 
soul  or  spirit,  even  in  madness,  could  never  have  done. 
I  accused  Christopher  of  committing  a  crime.  I  ac 
cused  him  of  treason!  Christopher!  My  love!  Sera- 


144  POSSESSED 

phine  bears  witness  to  this.  I  must  be  possessed  by  an 
evil  spirit!  This  would  account  for  something  else  that 
happened  last  night.  I  was  just  falling  into  a  troubled 

sleep  when — no,  /  cannot  tell  it! 

*  * 

* 

Christopher  sent  me  a  gorgeous  basket  of  roses  this 
morning  with  his  love.  He  loves  me  in  spite  of  the 
devil  and  all  his  angels — he  said  that  to  Seraphine. 
How  wonderful!  I  wish  they  would  let  me  see  him, 
and  yet — I  am  ashamed.  How  can  I  ever  face  Chris 
topher  again? 

There  is  something  strange  about  Roberta  Vallis — 
I  feel  it.  She  did  not  come  in  to  speak  to  me  or  say 
good-bye  before  I  left  her  apartment — that  morning. 
Why  not?  I  asked  Seraphine  if  there  was  anything 
the  matter  with  Roberta — had  I  done  anything  to  of 
fend  her? — but  the  only  answer  I  could  get  was  that 
Roberta  is  not  well.  Seraphine  is  keeping  something 
back — I  am  sure  of  it. 

Seraphine  knows  of  two  cases  where  evil  spirits  have 
been  cast  out.  One  was  a  New  York  silversmith  who 
had  never  shown  any  talent  for  art,  but  who  suddenly 
began  to  paint  remarkable  pictures,  which  sold  for  good 
prices.  He  was  desperately  unhappy,  however,  be 
cause  he  felt  sure  that  he  was  becoming  insane.  He 
had  visions  of  scenes  that  he  was  impelled  to  paint  and 
he  suffered  from  clairaudient  hallucinations.  Two 
well  known  neurologists  declared  that  he  was  a  victim 
of  paranoia  and  must  soon  be  confined  in  an  asylum. 


POSSESSED  145 

This  man  was  brought  back  to  a  normal  condition  by 
Dr.  Leroy's  treatment,  and  the  first  step  in  his  improve 
ment  was  when  he  grasped  the  idea  that  his  abnormal 
symptoms  were  due  to  possession.  This  satisfied  his 
reason  and  drove  away  his  fears  (I  understand  that), 
especially  when  he  was  assured  that  an  evil  spirit  can 
be  driven  out  by  the  power  of  God's  love  as  easily  as 
an  evil  germ  or  humour  of  the  body  can  be  driven  out 
by  the  same  agency.  What  a  blessed  thought ! 

Seraphine  says  we  must  obey  the  safeguarding  rules 
with  which  God  has  surrounded  the  operation  of  His 
love,  if  we  would  enjoy  the  blessed  guardianship  of 
that  love.  We  must  not  expect  God  to  change  His 
rules  for  us.  We  must  cleanse  our  hearts  of  evil! 

The  other  case  of  possession  was  not  a  patient  of 
Dr.  Leroy,  but  came  under  Seraphine's  notice  while  she 

was  attending  a  sufferer.  This  was  Alice  E ,  a 

charming,  refined  girl  about  twenty,  the  daughter  of 
well-bred  people  who  lived  in  Boston.  They  were 
somewhat  stricter  in  family  discipline  than  most  Amer 
ican  parents,  consequently  Alice,  from  babyhood  up, 
was  guarded  and  protected  in  every  possible  way.  She 
and  her  mother  were  almost  inseparable  companions. 
There  was  absolutely  no  way  in  which  Alice  could  have 
become  acquainted  with  people  of  the  underworld,  or 
heard  the  vile  expressions  that  she  afterward  used  in 
an  evil  personality.  Her  face  showed  unusual  inno« 
cence  and  purity,  her  disposition  was  affectionate  and 
serene. 

But  when  she  was  about  seventeen  Alice  began  to 
have  strange  spells  of  irritability;  she  would  grow  sul- 


i46  POSSESSED 

len  and  stubborn,  and  soon  these  ugly  moods  became 
more  violent;  she  would  burst  into  horrible  tirades 
against  her  father  and  mother  and  declare  that  she 
couldn't  stand  their  goody-goody  ways,  that  they  were 
so  damned  pious  they  made  her  sick.  Then  rage  and 
lust  seemed  to  possess  her  and  she  would  talk  about 
men  in  a  shocking  way,  using  unspeakable  words,  while 
the  expression  of  her  face  and  the  posture  of  her  body 
became  those  of  a  wanton. 

At  first  Alice  could  not  tell  when  these  attacks  were 
coming  on,  but  later,  when  she  was  about  twenty,  she 
knew  and  would  beg  her  family  to  keep  "that  dread 
ful,  horrible  girl"  from  taking  hold  of  her.  "She's 
going  to  change  me!  Oh,  keep  her  away!  Don't  let 
her  get  me !"  she  would  cry  out  in  terror. 

Through  the  last  days  of  the  poor  girl's  life  the 
struggle  between  the  real  Alice  and  the  gutter  woman 
went  on  almost  constantly.  Alice  would  implore  Sera- 
phine  to  make  the  wicked  girl  go  away  so  that  when 
the  end  came  (she  knew  she  was  going  to  die)  she 
might  be  herself.  But  the  evil  spirit  had  firm  posses 
sion  and  a  few  hours  before  her  death  Alice's  mouth 
was  coarse  and  sensual,  her  eyes  were  wicked,  her 
whole  expression  revolting. 

Seraphine  sent  word  to  the  family  that  they  must 
not  come  into  the  room;  then,  kneeling  by  the  bedside 
of  the  dying  girl,  she  nerved  herself  for  a  last  struggle 
between  the  powers  of  good  and  evil.  With  all  the 
strength  of  her  pure  soul  she  invoked  God's  love  to 
restore  and  heal  this  afflicted  child  ere  she  departed  for 
the  Great  Beyond;  and,  an  hour  before  the  end,  the 


POSSESSED  147 

family  were  admitted  to  the  chamber  and  looked  upon 
Alice's  pillowed  face,  sweetly  smiling,  beautiful  and  un 
sullied,  as  they  had  always  known  her  and  cherished 
her  God's  love  had  prevailed! 


When  Seraphine  left  me  my  mind  had  become  calm 
and  hopeful  and  I  had  given  up  my  wicked  purpose. 
I  fell  asleep  praying  that  God  would  save  me  from  the 
powers  of  darkness,  that  His  love  would  watch  over 
me  and  protect  me  from  all  evil,  especially  from  that 
dream  on  the  Fall  River  steamboat,  the  one  that  has 
tortured  me  so  many  nights. 

I  awakened  suddenly  to  the  knowledge  that  a  terri 
ble  thing  had  happened,  an  incredible  thing.  I  was 
alone  in  my  bedroom,  and  yet  I  was  not  alone!  I  had 
escaped  one  degradation  only  to  face  another.  I  was 
awake,  fully  awake ;  yet  I  was  more  abominally  tempted 
than  ever  I  was  in  my  dreams.  With  all  the  strength 
of  my  soul  I  fought  against  the  aggressions  of  a  real 
presence  that — that  touched  me!  I  cried  out,  I  strug 
gled,  I  begged  God  to  save  me  or  else  to  let  me  die. 
And  then  Seraphine  came  to  me  again  in  my  agony. 

But  before  she  came  the  Voices  sounded  worse  than 
ever,  nearer  about  me  than  ever.  Why  was  I  such  a 
fool?  Why  was  I  so  obstinate  in  resisting  my  fate? 
Was  I  not  Their  appointed  sacrifice?  Why  not  be  re 
signed  to  the  inevitable?  Why  not  .  .  .  ?  They 
laughed  and  fluttered  close  to  me  with  vile  murmurings 
while  I  prayed  against  them  with  all  my  strength. 


148  POSSESSED 

"God  of  love,  guard  Thy  child;  God  of  power,  save 
Thy  child,"  I  prayed. 

A  harsh,  cruel  voice  broke  in  to  tell  me  that  Roberta 
Vallis  was  dead,  she  died  of  terror  because  she  had 
defied  Them,  as  I  had  defied  Them;  and,  in  three  days, 
the  Voice  said  that  I,  too,  would  die  of  terror.  Three 
days  remained  to  me,  three  nights  with  my  dream  and 
a  hideous  awakening,  unless 

Then  Seraphine  opened  my  bedroom  door  and  I 
sobbed  in  her  arms  a  long  time  before  I  could  speak. 

"Is — is  Roberta  dead?"  I  gasped. 

She  looked  at  me  strangely  and  I  knew  it  was  true. 

"Yes,  dear,"  she  answered  gently,  and  tried  to  com 
fort  me  again,  but  it  was  in  vain. 

"I  have  only  three  days  to  live,  Seraphine,"  I  said 
solemnly.  "Three  days  and  three  nights!" 

Then  I  told  her  what  the  evil  spirit  had  said,  and 
she  listened  with  grave  attention. 


CHAPTER  XV 

DR.  LEROY 

THERE  may  now  be  presented,  as  bearing  upon  Mrs. 
Wells'  strange  illness,  a  conversation  which  took  place 
between  Dr.  William  Owen  and  Dr.  Edgar  Leroy,  the 
psychic  healer,  on  the  evening  following  Penelope's  en 
trance  into  the  Leroy  sanitarium  on  Fortieth  Street, 
just  south  of  Bryant  Park. 

Owen  began  in  his  bluff,  outspoken  way:  "Doctor, 
I  have  put  into  your  hands  a  lady  I  am  very  fond  of, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  your  theories  contradict  every 
thing  I  stand  for.  Not  very  complimentary,  is  it? — 
but  I  may  as  well  tell  you  the  truth.  Mrs.  Wells  has 
not  improved  under  my  treatment,  I  admit  that,  and 
I  have  turned  her  over  to  you  as  a  sort  of  last  hope." 

Leroy's  rather  stern  face  brightened  with  a  flash  of 
humor. 

"The  same  thing  has  happened  to  other  physicians, 
doctor.  I  believe  you  diagnose  this  case  as  shell 
shock?" 

"Unquestionably — with  unfavorable  developments, 
dual  personality  complications — I  wrote  you." 

"Yes.  I  spent  several  hours  with  Mrs.  Wells  last 
evening  when  she  arrived.  She  was  agitated,  but  I 
soothed  her  and  explained  certain  things  that  had 

149 


1 50  POSSESSED 

troubled  her,  and,  gradually,  she  grew  calm.  I  thinlc 
I  can  help  her." 

In  spite  of  himself  Dr.  Owen  was  favorably  im 
pressed  both  by  the  man  and  his  surroundings.  There 
was  nothing  garish  or  freakish  or  Oriental  about  the 
place,  which  was  furnished  with  the  business-like  sim 
plicity  of  an  ordinary  doctor's  office.  And  Leroy  cer 
tainly  had  a  fine  head — a  clean-shaven  face  with  heavy 
black  brows  under  which  shone  grave,  kindly  eyes  that 
twinkled  now  and  then  in  good-natured  understanding. 
He  was  about  ten  years  younger  than  his  colleague. 

"May  I  ask,  doctor,  if  there  is  any  scientific  evidence 
to  prove  the  existence  of  this  healing  spiritual  power 
that  you  use  or  think  you  use?"  In  spite  of  himself, 
Owen  put  this  question  a  little  patronizingly. 

"There  are  the  results — the  cures.  And  there  is  the 
evidence  of  Christianity.  Spiritual  power  is  the  basis 
of  Christianity,  isn't  it?" 

A  deeper  note  sounded  here,  and  the  hard-headed 
materialist  began  to  realize  that  he  was  in  the  pres 
ence  of  an  unusual  personality,  developed  by  suffering 
and  struggle,  a  man  who  had  finally  reached  a  haven  of 
sure  and  comforting  belief.  There  was  great  kindness 
in  this  face  as  well  as  strength. 

"Nothing  else?  Is  there  no  evidence  similar  to  that 
which  convinces  us  that  the  X-rays  really  exist?" 

Leroy  thought  a  moment,  then  he  spoke  with  a  quiet 
impressiveness  that  was  not  lost  upon  Dr.  Owen. 

"There  is  evidence  that  would  probably  convince 
any  fair-minded  person  who  was  willing  to  give  to  the 
investigation  time  enough  to  get  results.  The  X-rays 


DR.  LEROY  151, 

were  not  discovered  in  a  day,  were  they?  Suppose  I 
tell  you  how  I  got  into  this  occult  field — would  that 
interest  you?" 

"Very  much." 

"Take  that  other  chair — make  yourself  comfortable 
— that's  better.  It  began  accidentally  with  certain  per 
sistent  hallucinations,  as  I  used  to  call  them,  in  a  patient 
of  mine,  a  Southern  lady  whom  I  attended  when  I  was 
a  regular  practitioner  like  yourself.  These  hallucina 
tions  worried  me,  and,  being  an  open-minded  man,  I 
found  it  impossible  to  dismiss  them  as  of  trivial  im 
portance;  so  I  began  an  investigation  that  led  me — 
well,  it  led  me  very  far,  it  is  still  leading  me,  for  I  am 
scarcely  over  the  threshold  of  that  mysterious  region 
where  spirit  phenomena  occur.  I  resolved  to  know  for 
myself  whether  these  things  are  true." 

"And  you  think  they  are  true?" 

"I  know  they  are  true,"  was  the  grave  reply. 

Dr.  Owen  listened  attentively  while  Leroy  described 
his  first  groping  efforts  to  determine  whether  or  not  he 
personally  possessed  psychic  powers.  He  began  with 
regular  periods  of  mental  concentration,  an  opening  of 
the  soul,  as  it  were,  to  spirit  impressions;  he  would  sit 
alone,  in  a  state  of  meditative  receptiveness  for  ten  or 
fifteen  minutes  every  day,  and  later  several  times  a  day, 
waiting  for  something  to  happen — he  did  not  know 
what. 

Day  after  day  the  psychologist  persisted  in  this  sin 
gular  experiment  and,  soon,  he  began  to  see  small  blue 
figures,  irregularly  shaped,  that  moved  rapidly  about 
the  room  and  cast  no  shadows.  Some  of  these  blue 


1 52  POSSESSED 

figures  were  luminous,  and  among  them  were  occasional 
luminous  white  figures.  As  weeks  passed  and  his  ef 
forts  continued,  there  came  a  noticeable  increase  in  the 
number  of  these  moving  shapes  until,  when  the  doctor 
desired  it,  he  could  make  them  swarm  everywhere,  ovei 
the  walls,  the  pictures,  the  bookcases. 

"Wait!"  interrupted  Owen.  "Do  you  see  these  blue 
shapes  or  luminous  figures  at  all  times?  Do  you  see 
them  now?" 

"No.  I  only  see  them  when  I  desire  to  see  them — 
when  I  prepare  myself  to  use  them — for  a  case." 

Leroy  told  how  the  phenomena  continued  to  increase 
in  frequency  and  in  intensity,  how  gradually  he  felt  an 
unmistakable  sense  of  power  growing  in  himself,  as  if 
he  had  somehow  tapped  a  vast  source  of  energy,  a  kind 
of  spiritual  trolley-line,  and  he  was  now  impelled  to 
use  this  power.  He  made  his  first  trial  on  a  poor  man 
who  had  suffered  for  years  from  headaches  that  seemed 
incurable. 

"Stretch  out  on  that  reclining  chair,  close  your  eyes, 
don't  think  of  anything,"  ordered  the  experimenter. 
Then  he  laid  his  hands  on  the  man's  forehead  and  con 
centrated  his  mind  in  the  psychic  way  he  had  adopted. 
Almost  immediately  the  blue  shapes  appeared  in  great 
numbers,  and  began  to  pour  themselves  in  fine,  pulsing 
streams,  like  a  purplish  mist,  over  the  patient's  brow 
and  head  and  shoulders,  over  his  whole  body  until  he 
was  completely  enveloped  in  them,  laved  by  them,  pene 
trated  by  them. 

"That  was  a  crude  beginning,"  Leroy  went  on,  "but 
it  drove  '  away  those  obstinate  headaches  for  three 


DR.  LEROY  153 

months;  then  a  second  laying  on  of  hands  completed 
the  cure.  After  that,  as  months  passed,  other  persons 
were  cured  in  the  same  way — especially  nervous  cases. 
Whatever  these  blue  streams  are,  they  benefit  the  pa 
tient  in  most  cases.  One  woman  told  me,  during  a 
treatment,  that  she  saw  blue  shapes  about  her!" 

"You  hypnotized  her,"  declared  Owen. 

"Possibly.     I  did  not  intend  to." 

"What  I  want  to  know  is,  have  you  ever  treated  a 
case  like  this  one  of  Mrs.  Wells?" 

"Yes,  I  treated  a  young  woman  in  Mrs.  Wells'  pro 
fession,  a  trained  nurse.  She  came  of  good  family  and 
was  very  intelligent,  but  she  was  driven  toward  certain 
forms  of  depravity.  It  was  pretty  bad.  All  efforts  to 
change  her  had  failed  and,  at  last,  her  mother  in  des 
peration  decided  to  try  psychic  treatment." 

"And  you  cured  her?" 

"Yes.  She  is  now  doing  useful  work  in  Washington 
for  the  Red  Cross." 

"How  did  you  cure  her — it  wasn't  simply  by  the  lay 
ing  on  of  hands,  was  it?" 

"No.  I  recognize  the  necessity  of  getting  at  the 
forgotten  or  concealed  causes  of  these  abnormalities, 
just  as  Freud  does  in  his  psycho-analysis,  but,  instead 
of  following  the  uncertain  trail  of  dreams,  I  conceived 
the  idea  of  discovering  the  truth  by  clairvoyant  revela 
tion.  I  engaged  Mrs.  Seraphine  Walters  to  assist  me 
in  my  work.  She  has  astonishing  psychic  gifts 
and "  he  hesitated. 

"Yes?" 

"In  her  entranced  condition,  Mrs.  Walters  discov- 


i54  POSSESSED 

ered  things  about  this  young  woman,  painful  things  that 
had  been  hidden  for  years  and — well,  I  was  able  to 
relieve  her  of  her  fears  and  check  her  waywardness," 
he  concluded  abruptly. 

"But  the  details?  Tell  me  more  about  this  case. 
What  were  the  painful  things  that  Mrs.  Walters  dis 
covered?" 

Leroy  shook  his  head. 

"What's  the  use?  I  can  state  the  result  of  my  treat 
ment,  but  if  I  go  into  details,  if  I  try  to  make  you  under 
stand  the  cause  of  this  young  woman's  evil  desires  and 

how  I  overcame  them "  he  paused,  his  eyes  shining 

with  an  inspired  light.  "Don't  you  see,  doctor,  you  and 
I  do  not  speak  the  same  language.  You  are  always  in 
opposition.  You  have  no  faith.  It's  your  narrow  train- 
ing." 

"Narrow?"  snorted  the  other. 

"Yes,  you  scientists  are  childishly  narrow.  You  be 
lieve  in  atoms  and  ions  and  electrons  that  you  have 
never  seen  and  never  will  see,  but  if  anyone  mentions 
secrets  of  the  soul  that  control  human  happiness,  you 
laugh  or  sneer." 

"Not  necessarily.  I  suppose  you  refer  to  your  the 
ory  of  possession  by  evil  spirits.  If  you  could  only 
furnish  any  evidence " 

"It  isn't  my  theory.  It's  as  old  as  Christianity,  it's 
a  part  of  Christianity.  As  to  evidence,  my  dear  sir, 
you  are  blind  to  evidence.  The  young  lady  I  speak  of 
was  despaired  of  by  everybody,  she  was  on  her  way  to 
an  insane  asylum,  two  alienists  had  declared  her  case 
hopeless,  yet,  thanks  to  psychic  treatment,  she  was  re- 


DR.  LEROY  155 

stored  to  health  and  happiness.  Does  that  impress 
you?  Not  at  all.  You  call  it  a  coincidence.  And  if  I 
am  fortunate  enough  to  cure  Mrs.  Wells,  whom  you 
have  failed  to  cure,  you  will  call  that  a  coincidence, 
too." 

Dr.  Owen  tried  to  control  his  irritation,  but  his 
prejudices  got  the  better  of  him. 

"Of  course  I  want  to  see  Mrs.  Wells  cured,  but — 
do  you  mean  to  tell  me  seriously  that  you  believe  she  is 
possessed  by  an  evil  spirit?" 

"I  believe  that  some  malignant  influence  is  near  her 
and  able  to  control  her — intermittently.  How  else  do 
you  account  for  the  facts  in  her  case?  Even  Mrs. 
Wells  believes  this." 

"That  is  because  Seraphine  put  the  notion  in  her 
head.  It's  unfortunate." 

"No,  she  believes  this  because  of  the  way  her  friend 
died.  You  know  how  she  died?" 

"Miss  Vallis?  She  died  suddenly,  but  the  cause  of 
her  death  is  doubtful.  People  die  suddenly  from  all 
sorts  of  causes." 

"Yes,"  answered  Leroy  with  a  significant  tightening 
of  the  lips,  "and  one  of  the  causes  is  fear.  People  die 
suddenly  of  fear,  doctor." 

"Referring  to  Mrs.  Wells  and  her  bad  dreams?" 

"Precisely.  If  you  had  seen  her  last  night — after 
midnight — watching  the  clock  with  dark,  furtive 
glances,  watching,  waiting,  as  the  hands  approached 
half  past  twelve,  you  would  understand  what  fear  can 
do  to  a  woman.  That  is  Mrs.  Wells'  worst  symptom, 
she  is  afraid — not  all  the  time  but  intermittently." 


i56  POSSESSED 

Owen  leaned  forward  in  concentrated  attention. 

"Why  was  she  in  such  a  state  at  half  past  twelve 
rather  than  at  any  .other  time?" 

"Because  the  change  in  her  takes  place  then,  the 
change  into  her  other  personality." 

"Fauvette?    You  saw  her — in  that  personality?" 

"Yes.  I  saw  her.  Besides,  she  told  me  about  it 
in  advance.  She  knows  what  is  going  to  take  place, 
but  is  powerless  against  it.  Every  night  at  exactly  half 
past  twelve  there  comes  a  violent  period  that  lasts  until 
one  o'clock.  Then  she  falls  into  a  deep  sleep,  and  a 
dream  begins,  always  the  same  dream,  a  horrible  dream 
that  terrifies  her  and  drains  her  life  forces.  She  had 
this  dream  last  night,  she  will  have  it  again  tonight, 
and  again  tomorrow  night.  She  believes  that  she  will 
die  tomorrow  night,  just  as  her  friend  died!" 

"Good  God!  What  a  pity!"  exclaimed  Owen. 
"Why  does  she  think  she  is  going  to  die  tomorrow 
night?" 

"Her  Voices  tell  her  so,  and  she  believes  them." 

"She  told  you  this?" 

"Yes." 

The  older  man  tapped  impatiently  on  his  chair-arm. 

"And  you?  What  did  you  say  to  her?  You  surely 
do  not  believe  that  Mrs.  Wells  will  die  tomorrow 
night?  You  know  these  are  only  the  morbid  fancies 
of  an  hysterical  woman,  don't  you?" 

Leroy  rose  quietly  and  took  down  a  volume  from 
the  bookcase. 

"How  we  love  to  argue  over  the  names  of  things !" 
he  answered  gravely.  "I  don't  care  what  you  call  the 


DR.  LEROY  157 

influence  or  obsession  that  threatens  this  lady.  I  ask, 
What  do  you  propose  to  do  about  it?  Do  you  believe 
that  Mrs.  Wells  will  die  tomorrow  night?  Do  you?" 

Owen  moved  uncomfortably  on  his  chair,  frowned, 
snapped  his  fingers  softly  and  finally  admitted  that  he 
did  not  know. 

"Ah !  Then  is  it  your  idea  to  wait  without  doing 
anything  until  tomorrow  night  comes,  and  see  if  Mrs. 
Wells  really  does  die  at  half-past  twelve,  and  then,  if 
she  does,  as  the  Vallis  woman  died,  to  simply  say: 
'It's  very  strange,  it's  too  bad!'  and  let  it  go  at  that? 
Is  that  your  idea?  Will  you  take  that  responsibility?" 

"No,  certainly  not.  I  don't  mean  to  interfere  with 
your  plans.  I  told  you  I  have  left  this  matter  entirely 
in  your  hands,"  answered  the  skeptic,  his  aggressive 
ness  suddenly  calmed. 

"Very  well.  Take  my  word,  doctor,  fear  is  terribly 
destructive,  it  may  cause  death.  Listen  to  this  case, 
cited  by  a  French  psychologist."  He  turned  over  the 
pages.  "Daughter  of  an  English  nobleman,  engaged 
to  a  man  she  loves,  perfectly  happy;  but  one  night  she 
is  visited,  or  thinks  she  is,  by  her  dead  mother  who  says 
she  will  come  for  her  daughter  the  next  day  at  noon. 
The  girl  tells  her  father  she  is  going  to  die.  She  reads 
her  Bible,  sings  hymns  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  gui 
tar,  and  just  before  noon,  although  apparently  in  ex 
cellent  health,  she  asks  to  be  helped  to  a  large  arm 
chair  in  her  bedroom.  At  noon  exactly  she  draws  two 
or  three  gasping  breaths  and  sinks  back  into  her  chair, 
dead.  That  shows  what  fear  will  do." 

But  his  adversary  was  still  unconvinced. 


158  POSSESSED 

"What  does  that  prove?  Do  you  think  you  could 
have  saved  this  young  woman  if  you  had  been  in  charge 
of  the  case?" 

"Perhaps.    I  hope  to  save  Mrs.  Wells." 

"How?" 

Leroy  hesitated,  frowned  with  a  nervous  squinting, 
as  if  he  were  trying  to  solve  a  baffling  problem. 

"How?  I  wish  I  could  tell  you,  doctor,  but  you 
would  not  understand.  That  is  the  sad  part  of  my 
work,  I  am  all  alone." 

His  eyes  burned  somberly,  then  he  spoke  with  intense 
feeling. 

"Not  one  of  you  orthodox  physicians  will  join  me  in 
my  effort  to  save  millions  of  unfortunates  from  the 
tragedy  of  our  state  hospitals.  You  won't  lift  a  hand 
to  help  me.  You  all  say  there  is  nothing  to  be  done. 
What  a  wicked  evasion  of  responsibility !  Nothing  to 
be  done?  I  tell  you  there  is  everything  to  be  done. 
Suppose  you  had  a  daughter  or  a  sister  or  a  wife  who 
was  suffering  from  such  an  affliction — how  would  you 
feel?  God  grant  you  may  never  know  how  you  would 
feel.  Why  do  you  doctors  scoff  at  miracles  when  the 
Bible  is  full  of  them  and  we  all  live  among  them? 
What  is  life  but  an  unceasing  miracle?  Tell  me  how 
you  move  your  finger  except  by  a  miracle?  What  is 
vision?  What  is  death?  How  do  you  know  that 
spirits  of  the  departed,  good  and  bad,  do  not  come 
back  to  help  us — or  to  harm  us?  Many  great  men 
believe  this  and  always  have.  Many  fine  women  know 
that  this  is  true.  Mrs.  Walters  has  actually  seen  an 
evil  spirit  hovering  about  a  girl  who  was  called  insane. 


DR.  LEROY  159 

How  do  you  know  that  insanity  is  not  caused  by  evil 
possession?" 

"Hold  on!  I  can't  answer  all  those  questions," 
laughed  Owen  and  now  his  manner  changed  quite 
charmingly  as  he  made  an  amende  honorable.  "I'm  a 
stubborn  old  fool,  doctor.  I  ought  to  have  had  more 
sense  than  to  get  into  this  argument.  What  I  care 
about  is  to  have  this  dear  lady  restored  to  health  and 
happiness.  There!"  He  held  out  his  hand.  "For 
give  me!  The  more  miracles  you  can  work  for  her 
cure,  the  better  I  shall  like  it." 

At  this  Leroy  relented  in  his  turn. 

"Dr.  Owen,  I  will  not  conceal  from  you  that  Mrs. 
Wells  is  in  great  peril.  I  have  no  more  doubt  that  she 
will  die  tomorrow  night,  unless  she  consents  to  do 
something  that  I  have  already  indicated  to  her  as 
necessary,  than  I  have  of  your  presence  in  this  room." 

"Extraordinary!  Do  you  really  mean  that?  What 
is  this  thing?  Is  it  a  definite  thing,  or  is  it  some — some 
spiritual  thing?" 

Dr.  Leroy  sighed  and  shook  his  head. 

"It's  hard  for  you  to  believe,  isn't  it?  I  suppose 
you  want  me  to  give  Mrs.  Wells  a  dose  of  medicine  or 
put  a  hot  water  bag  at  her  feet.  No,  doctor,  it's  much 
more  difficult  than  that." 

The  veteran  pondered  this  in  puzzled  exasperation. 

"If  Mrs.  Wells  does  this  definite  thing  that  you  have 
told  her  to  do,  will  she  be  saved?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,"  Leroy  spoke  confidently. 

There  came  a  knock  at  the  office  door,  but  both  men 


160  POSSESSED 

were  so  absorbed  in  their  conversation  that  they  paid 
no  attention  to  it. 

"Is  there  any  doubt  about  her  doing  this  definite 
thing  that  will  save  her?" 

"That's  the  trouble,  she  fights  against  doing  it  with 
all  her  strength.  She  says  she  cannot  do  it.  But  I  tell 
her  she  must  do  it!" 

The  knock  sounded  sharper.  An  attendant  had  come 
with  a  message  from  Seraphine  asking  Dr.  Leroy  to 
come  to  her  at  once.  She  was  upstairs  in  Mrs.  Wells' 
sitting-room.  Something  serious  had  happened. 

"Tell  Mrs.  Walters  that  I  will  be  right  up,"  he  said. 
"You  had  better  wait  here,  doctor."  Leroy  glanced  at 
his  watch.  "It's  half-past  nine.  We  have  three  hours." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IRRESPONSIBLE  HANDS 

DR.  LEROY  found  Mrs.  Walters  in  the  attractive 
sitting-room,  brightened  by  flowers  (most  of  them  sent 
by  Christopher)  that  had  been  set  apart  for  Penelope. 
The  medium,  usually  so  serene,  was  pale  and  agitated 
and  had  evidently  been  repairing  some  recent  disorder 
of  her  hair  and  dress. 

"She  is  asleep,  doctor,"  panted  Seraphine,  and  she 
pointed  to  the  closed  door  of  the  bedroom.  "We  have 
had  quite  a  bad  time." 

Then  Seraphine  told  the  doctor  what  had  happened. 
She  and  Penelope  had  spent  the  evening  pleasantly, 
sewing  and  chatting,  and  Mrs.  Wells  had  seemed  her 
old  joyous  self,  free  from  fears  and  agitations.  She 
listened  with  touching  confidence  when  the  medium  as 
sured  her  that  her  mother's  exalted  spirit  was  trying 
to  help  her.  And  she  promised  to  bear  in  mind  Dr. 
Leroy's  injunction  that,  just  before  composing  herself 
to  sleep,  she  must  hold  the  thought  strongly  that  she 
was  God's  child,  guarded  from  all  evil  by  the  power  of 
God's  love.  Also  she  would  search  into  her  heart  to 
find  the  obstacle  that  prevented  her  mother  from  com 
ing  closer  to  her. 

About  nine  o'clock  Penelope  said  she  was  sleepy  and 

161 


1 62  POSSESSED 

would  lie  down  to  rest,  at  which  Seraphine  rejoiced, 
hoping  this  might  indicate  a  break  in  the  spell  of  fear 
that  had  kept  Mrs.  Wells  in  exhausting  suspense.  Per 
haps  this  was  an  answer  to  their  prayers.  She  as 
sisted  the  patient,  lovingly  and  encouragingly,  to  pre 
pare  herself  for  the  night  and  at  half-past  nine  left  her 
in  bed  with  the  light  extinguished  and  the  door  leading 
into  the  sitting-room  open,  so  that  she  could  hear  the 
slightest  call. 

About  twenty  minutes  later,  as  Seraphine  sat  medi 
tating,  her  attention  was  attracted  by  a  sound  from  the 
bedroom  and,  looking  through  the  door,  she  was  sur 
prised  to  see  Mrs.  Wells  sitting  up  in  bed  and  writing 
rapidly  on  a  large  pad  from  which  she  tore  sheets  now 
and  then,  letting  these  fall  to  the  floor.  So  dim  was 
the  bedroom  light  that  it  was  impossible  for  Penelope 
to  see  her  penciled  writing,  nor  did  she  even  glance  at 
the  words,  but  held  her  eyes  fixed  in  a  far-away  stare, 
as  if  she  were  guided  by  some  distant  voice  or  vision. 
After  a  time,  Penelope  ceased  writing  and  sank  back  in 
slumber  upon  her  pillow,  allowing  the  pad  to  fall  by 
her  side. 

"Automatic  writing,"  nodded  the  psychologist. 

"Yes.  I  entered  the  bedroom  softly  and  picked  up 
the  sheets.  There  are  two  communications,  one  in  a 
large  scrawl  written  by  a  woman — I  believe  it  is 
Penelope's  mother.  The  other  is  in  a  small  regular 
hand  with  quick  powerful  strokes,  evidently  a  man's 
writing.  There!  You  see  the  handwriting  is  quite 
different  from  Penelope's." 

Leroy  studied  the  sheets  in  silence. 


IRRESPONSIBLE  HANDS  163 

"Have  you  read  these  messages?" 

"I  read  one  of  them,  doctor,  the  one  from  Penelope's 
mother — it  is  full  of  love  and  wisdom — and  I  was  just 
beginning  the  other  when  a  terrible  thing  happened. 
That  is  why  I  sent  for  you.  I  was  sitting  in  this  rock 
ing  chair  with  my  back  turned  to  the  bedroom  door, 
absorbed  in  reading  this  message,  when  suddenly " 

"Wait !  Let  me  read  it  first.  Hello !  It's  for  Cap 
tain  Herrick."  , 

"Not  all  of  it.     Won't  you  read  it  aloud,  doctor?" 

The  medium  closed  her  eyes  while  Leroy,  speaking 
in  a  low  tone  but  distinctly,  repeated  this  mysterious 
communication: 

Tell  Captain  Herrick  it  was  I  he  saw  on  the  battle 
field  guiding  the  stumbling  footsteps  of  my  little  girl, 
helping  her  to  find  the  place  where  he  lay.  I  realized 
that,  through  her  love  for  him,  which  she  would  ex 
perience  later,  she  would  build  better  and  higher  ideals 
than  the  ones  she  was  then  holding  deep  within  her 
soul.  Tell  him  also  that  he  is  in  danger  from  some 
thing  he  is  carrying.  .  .  » •"•• 

Here  the  writing  became  impossible  to  decipher. 

"See  how  the  powers  of  Love  work  against  the 
powers  of  Evil!"  mused  the  psychic.  "I  must  show 
this  to  Captain  Herrick.  Well,  what  happened?" 

Seraphine  went  on  to  say  that  she  had  just  begun  to 
read  the  second  piece  of  automatic  writing  and  had 
only  finished  a  few  lines — enough  to  see  that  it  was 
very  different  from  the  first — when  she  felt  a  clutch  of 
hands  around  her  throat  and  realized  that  Fauvette 
had  crept  up  cunningly  from  behind.  There  had  beea 


1 64  POSSESSED 

a  struggle  in  which  the  medium  tried  vainly  to  cry  out 
for  help  or  to  reach  the  bell,  but  her  enemy  was  too 
strong  for  her,  and  she  had  grown  weaker;  then,  using 
strategy,  she  let  herself  fall  limp  under  the  murderous 
hands,  whereupon  Fauvette,  laughing  triumphantly, 
had  loosened  her  grip  for  a  moment  and  allowed 
Seraphine  to  free  herself. 

"Then  I  caught  her  and  held  her  so  that  I  could  look 
into  her  eyes  and,  finally,  I  subdued  her.  She  cried  out 
that  she  would  come  back  again,  but  I  forced  her  to  lie 
down  and  almost  instantly  she  fell  into  a  deep  sleep." 

"It  was  your  love  and  your  fearlessness  that  gave 
you  the  victory,"  Leroy  said  quietly.  Then  he  took  up 
the  other  message  and  read  it  with  darkening  eyes. 

"Horrible!  The  change  must  have  come  while  she 
was  writing  this." 

He  opened  the  bedroom  door  softly  and,  with  in 
finite  compassion  in  his  rugged  face,  bent  over  Penelope 
who  was  sleeping  peacefully,  her  loveliness  marred  by 
no  sign  of  evil. 

An  hour  passed  now,  during  which  the  spiritual 
physician  gave  Seraphine  her  instructions  for  the  night 
and  made  preparations  for  the  struggle  that  he  knew 
was  before  him. 

Meantime  Captain  Herrick  had  reached  the  sani 
tarium  and,  finding  Dr.  Owen  in  the  study,  had  laid 
before  him  a  plan  to  save  Penelope,  if  it  was  true,  as 
Christopher  believed,  that  her  trouble  was  simply  in 
the  imagination.  He  proposed  to  divert  his  sweet 
heart's  attention  so  that  she  would  not  know  when  the 


IRRESPONSIBLE  HANDS  165 

deadly  Fauvette  hour  was  at  hand.  And  to  this  end 
he  had  arranged  to  have  the  clocks  set  back  half  an 
hour. 

"It  can't  do  any  harm,  can  it,  sir?"  he  urged  with  a 
lover's  ardor,  "and  it  may  succeed.  Dr.  Leroy  says 
it's  fear  that's  killing  her.  Well,  we'll  drive  away  her 
fear.  I've  fixed  it  at  the  church  down  the  street,  the 
one  that  chimes  the  quarter-hours,  to  have  that  clock 
put  back.  And  the  clocks  in  the  house  are  easy.  What 
do  you  think  of  it,  sir?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

The  old  doctor  frowned  in  perplexity. 

"I  don't  know,  Chris.  You'll  have  to  put  this  up  to 
Dr.  Leroy.  He's  a  wonderful  fellow.  I've  had  my 
eyes  opened  tonight  or  my  soul — something." 

The  two  men  smoked  solemnly. 

"I  believe  we're  going  to  save  Penelope,  my  boy — 
somehow.  It's  a  mighty  queer  world.  I  don't  know 
but  we  are  all  more  or  less  possessed  by  evil  spirits, 
Chris.  What  are  these  brainstorms  that  overwhelm 
the  best  of  us?  Why  do  good  men  and  women,  on 
some  sudden,  devilish  impulse,  do  abominable  things, 
criminal  things,  that  they  never  meant  to  do?  We 
doctors  pretend  to  be  skeptical,  but  we  all  come  up 
against  creepy  stuff,  inside  confession  stuff  that  we  don't 
talk  about." 

He  was  silent  again. 

"There  was  a  patient  of  mine  in  Chicago,  a  tough 
old  rounder,"  Owen  resumed,  "who  changed  overnight 
into  the  straightest  chap  you  ever  heard  of — because 
he  went  down  to  the  edge  of  the  Great  Shadow — he 
was  one  of  the  passengers  saved  from  the  Titanic.  He 


•i  66  POSSESSED 

told  me  that  when  he  was  struggling  there  in  the  icy 
ocean,  after  the  ship  sank,  he  saw  white  shapes  hover 
ing  over  the  waters,  holding  up  the  drowning!  I  never 
mentioned  that  until  tonight." 

They  smoked  without  speaking. 

"I — I  had  an  experience  like  that  myself,  sir,"  ven 
tured  Christopher.  "I've  never  spoken  of  it  either — 
people  would  call  me  crazy,  but — that  night  when  I  lay 
out  there  in  front  of  Montidier,  among  the  dead  and 
dying,  I  saw  a  white  shape  moving  over  the  battle 
fields." 

"You  did?" 

"Yes,  sir.  It  was  the  figure  of  a  woman — coming 
towards  me — she  seemed  to  be  leading  Penelope.  I 
saw  her  distinctly — she  had  a  beautiful  face." 

Silence  again. 

Dr.  Leroy  joined  them  presently  and,  on  learning  of 
Captain  Herrick's  plan,  he  made  no  objections  to  it, 
but  said  it  would  fail. 

"We  are  dealing  with  an  evil  power,  gentlemen,  that 
is  far  too  clever  to  be  deceived  by  such  a  trick,"  he 
assured  them;  but  Christopher  was  resolved  to  try. 

Leroy  then  described  Seraphine's  narrow  escape  and 
showed  them  the  automatic  writing,  the  message  from 
Penelope's  mother,  not  the  evil  message;  whereupon 
Christopher,  in  amazement,  gave  the  corroborative 
testimony  of  his  battlefield  experience.  The  psychol 
ogist  nodded  gravely. 

At  five  minutes  of  twelve  (correct  time)  Seraphine 
sent  down  word  that  Mrs.  Wells  had  awakened  and 
was  asking  eagerly  for  Captain  Herrick. 


IRRESPONSIBLE  HANDS  167 

"Go  to  her  at  once,  my  young  friend,"  directed  Le- 
roy.  "Do  all  you  can  to  encourage  her  and  make  her 
happy.  Tell  her  there  is  nothing  to  fear  because  her 
mother's  pure  soul  is  guarding  her.  Show  her  this 
message  from  her  mother.  And  whatever  happens  do 
not  let  your  own  faith  waver.  I  assure  you  our  pre 
cautions  are  taken  against  everything.  God  bless  you." 

When  Christopher  had  gone,  Leroy  told  Dr.  Owen 
about  the  second  communication  in  automatic  writing 
which  he  had  withheld  from  Captain  Herrick. 

"This  is  undoubtedly  from  the  evil  spirit,"  he  said, 
and  he  read  it  aloud : 

"I  was  one  of  many  loosed  upon  earth  when  the  war 
began.  I  rode  screaming  upon  clouds  of  poison  gas. 
I  danced  over  red  battlefields.  I  entered  one  of  the 
Gray  ones,  an  officer,  and  revelled  with  him  in  ravished 
villages.  Then  I  saw  Penelope  going  about  on  errands 
of  mercy,  I  saw  her  beautiful  body  and  the  little  spots 
on  her  soul  that  she  did  not  know  about,  and  when  her 
nerves  were  shattered,  I  entered  into  her.  Now  she  is 
mine.  I  defy  YOU  to  drive  me  out.  Already  her  star 
burns  scarlet  through  a  mist  of  evil  memories.  I  see  it 
now  as  she  sleeps!  I  shall  come  back  tonight  and  make 
her  dream." 

"You  see  v/hat  we  have  against  us,"  Leroy  said,  and 
his  face  was  sad,  yet  fixed  with  a  stern  purpose. 

And  now  the  old  materialist  asked  anxiously,  not 
scoffingly:  "Doctor,  do  you  really  believe  that  this 
spirit  can  drag  Mrs.  Wells  down?" 

"That  depends  upon  herself.     Mrs.  Wells  knows 


1 68  POSSESSED 

what  she  must  do.     I  have  told  her.     If  she  does  this, 

she  will  be  safe.    If  not " 

His  eyes  were  inexpressibly  tragic,  and  at  this  mo 
ment  the  neighboring  chimes  resounded  musically 
through  the  quiet  sanitarium — a  quarter  to  twelve! 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE  HOUR  OF  THE  DREAM 

WHEN  Seraphine  led  Captain  Herrick  into  the  bed- 
room  where  Penelope  lay  propped  up  against  pillows, 
icr  dark  hair  in  braids  and  a  Chinese  embroidered 
>carf  brightening  her  white  garment,  it  seemed  to 
Christopher  that  his  beloved  had  never  been  so  ador- 
ibly  beautiful. 

Gallantly  and  tenderly  he  kissed  the  slim  white  hand 
:hat  his  lady  extended  with  a  brave  but  pathetic  smile. 

Seraphine  withdrew  discreetly. 

The  lovers  were  alone. 

It  was  an  oppressive  night,  almost  like  summer,  and 
-'enelope,  concerned  for  her  sweetheart's  comfort, 
nsisted  that  he  take  off  his  heavy  coat,  and  draw  up 
in  easy  chair  by  her  bedside. 

They  tried  to  talk  of  pleasant  things — the  lovely 
lowers  he  had  sent  her — how  well  she  was  looking — 
)ut  it  was  no  use.     The  weight  of  the  approaching 
i  crisis  was  upon  both  of  them. 

"Oh,  Chris,  how  we  go  on  pretending — up  to  the 
very  last!"  she  lifted  her  eyes  appealingly.  "We  know 

what  has  happened — what  may  happen,  but "  she 

drew  in  her  breath  sharply  and  a  little  shiver  ran 
through  her.    "I — I'm  afraid." 

169 


170  POSSESSED 

He  took  her  hand  strongly  in  his  and  with  all  a 
lover's  ardor  and  tenderness  tried  to  comfort  her. 
Then,  rather  clumsily,  he  showed  her  the  automatic 
writing,  not  quite  sure  whether  to  present  this  as  a 
thing  that  he  believed  in  or  not. 

Penelope  studied  the  large,  scrawled  words. 

"How  wonderful!"  she  murmured.  "I  remember 
vaguely  writing  something,  but  I  had  no  idea  what  it 
was.  My  mother!  It  must  be  true!  It's  her  hand 
writing.  She  was  watching  over  us,  dear — she  is 
watching  over  us  still.  That  ought  to  give  us  courage, 
oughtn't  it?" 

She  glanced  nervously  at  the  little  gilt  clock  that  was 
ticking  quietly  over  the  fireplace.  Ten  minutes  to 
twelve ! 

"What  is  this  danger,  that  she  speaks  of,  Chris? 
What  is  it — that  you  are  carrying?" 

The  captain's  answer  was  partly  an  evasion.  He 
really  did  not  know  what  danger  was  referred  to,  un 
less  it  could  be  a  small  flask  from  the  laboratory  with 
a  gas  specimen  for  Dr.  Owen  that  he  had  left  in  the 
other  room  in  his  coat,  but  this  was  in  a  little  steel  con 
tainer  and  could  do  no  harm. 

"It  may  mean  some  spiritual  danger,  Pen,  from  sel 
fishness  or  want  of  faith  or — or  something  like  that," 
he  suggested.  "I  guess  I  am  selfish  and  impatient — 
don't  you  think  so?" 

"Impatient,  Chris?" 

"I  mean  impatient  for  you  to  get  well,  impatient  to 
take  you  far  away  from  all  these  doctors  and  dreams, 


THE  HOUR  OF  THE  DREAM         171 

and  just  have  you  to  myself.  That  isn't  very  wicked, 
is  it,  sweetheart?" 

He  stroked  her  hand  fondly  and  looked  deep  into 
her  wonderful  eyes.  Penelope  sighed. 

"I — I  suppose  it  will  all  be  over  soon — I  mean  we 
shall  know  what's  going  to  happen,  won't  we?" 

It  was  her  first  open  reference  to  the  peril  hanging 
over  them,  and  again,  involuntarily,  she  glanced  at  the 
clock.  Five  minutes  to  twelve !  It  was  really  twenty- 
five  minutes  past  twelve ! — but  she  did  not  know  that. 

"Darling,  I  don't  believe  anything  is  going  to  hap 
pen.  Our  troubles  are  over.  You  are  guarded  by  this 
beautiful  love — all  these  prayers.  I've  been  saying 
prayers,  myself,  Pen — for  both  of  us." 

"Dear  boy!" 

"I  want  you  to  promise  me  one  thing — you  love  me, 
don't  you?  No  matter  what  happens,  you  love  me?'* 

Her  eyes  glowed  on  him. 

"Oh  yes,  with  all  my  heart." 

"You're  going  to  be  my  wife." 

"Ye— es,  if— if "  " 

"All  right,  we'll  put  down  the  ifs.  I  want  you  to 
promise  that  if  this  foolish  spell,  or  whatever  it  is,  is 
broken  tonight — if  nothing  happens  at  half-past  twelve, 
and  you  don't  have  this  bad  dream,  then  you'll  forget 
the  whole  miserable  business  and  marry  me  tomorrow. 
There!  Will  you?" 

"Oh,  Chris!     Tomorrow?" 

"Yes,  tomorrow!  I'm  not  a  psychologist  or  a  doc 
tor,  but  I  believe  I  can  cure  you  myself.  Will  you 
promise,  Pen?" 


1 72  POSSESSED 

Her  eyes  brimmed  with  tears  of  gratitude  and  fond 
ness. 

"You  want  me — anyway?" 

"Anyway." 

"Then  I  say— yes !  I  will !  I  will  I  Oh  my  love !" 
She  drew  him  slowly  down  to  her  and  kissed  his  eyes 
gently,  her  face  radiant  with  sweetness  and  purity.  A 
moment  later  the  chimes  rang  out  twelve. 

As  the  minutes  passed  Christopher  watched  her  in 
breathless  but  confident  expectation.  The  crisis  had 
come  and  she  was  passing  it — she  had  passed  it  safely. 
They  talked  on  fondly — five  minutes,  ten  minutes,  fif 
teen  minutes,  and  still  there  were  no  untoward  develop 
ments,  no  sign  of  anything  evil  or  irrational.  Penelope 
was  her  own  adorable  self.  The  spell  was  broken. 
Nothing  had  happened. 

"You  see,  it's  all  right?"  he  laughed.  "You  needn't 
be  afraid  any  more." 

"Wait  I"  she  looked  at  the  clock.  "Ten  minutes 
yet!" 

He  longed  to  tell  her  that  they  had  already  passed 
the  fatal  moment,  passed  it  by  twenty  minutes,  but  he 
restrained  his  ardor. 

"Chris,  my  love,  if  we  are  really  to  be  married  to 
morrow — how  wonderful  that  seems  ! — I  must  have  no 
secrets  from  you.  What  my  mother  said  is  true — a 
woman  must  cleanse  her  soul.  I  want  to  tell  you  some 
thing — for  my  sake,  not  for  yours — then  we  will  never 
refer  to  it  again." 

"But,  Penelope " 

"For  my  sake,  Chris." 


THE  HOUR  OF  THE  DREAM         173 

"It  isn't  about  that  steamboat?" 

"It  is,  darling.  I  must  tell  it.  Fix  the  pillows  be 
hind  me.  There !  Sit  close  to  me — that's  right.  Now 
listen!  This  dream  is  a  repetition  of  what  happened 
on  the  boat.  It  would  have  been  much  better  if  I  had 
told  you  all  about  it  long  ago." 

"Why?" 

She  hesitated. 

*  'Because — it  is  not  so  much  the  memory  of  what  I 
did  that  worries  me,  as  the  fear  that — you  will  be 
ashamed  of  me  or — or  hate  me — when  you  know." 

Herrick  saw  that  her  cheeks  were  flushed,  but  at 
least  her  mind  was  occupied,  he  reflected,  and  the  min 
utes  were  passing. 

"I  could  never  be  ashamed  of  you,  Penelope." 

"If  I  were  only  sure  of  that,"  she  sighed,  then  with  a 
great  effort,  and  speaking  low,  sometimes  scarcely  lift 
ing  her  eyes,  she  told  her  lover  the  story  of  the  Fall 
River  steamboat. 

The  main  point  was  that  her  husband,  a  coarse  se'n- 
sualist,  whom  she  despised,  had,  during  the  year  pre 
ceding  his  death,  accepted  a  chambre  apart  arrange 
ment,  that  being  the  only  condition  on  which  Penelope 
would  continue  to  live  with  him,  but,  on  the  occasion 
of  this  journey  down  from  Newport,  he  had  broken  his 
promise  and  entered  her  stateroom. 

"It  was  an  oppressive  night,  like  this,"  she  said, 
"and  I  had  left  the  deck  door  ajar,  held  on  a  hook. 
I  was  trying  to  sleep,  when  suddenly  I  saw  a  man's 
arm  pushed  in  through  the  opening.  I  shall  never 


i74  POSSESSED 

forget  my  fright,  as  I  saw  that  black  sleeve.  Do  you 
understand  what  I  mean?  Look!" 

Gathering  her  draperies  about  her,  Penelope  sprang 
lightly  out  of  bed  and  moved  swiftly  to  the  bedroom 
door,  while  Christopher,  startled,  followed  the  beauty 
of  her  sinuous  form. 

"His  arm  came  through — like  this,"  she  stepped  out 
side  the  bedroom,  and,  reaching  around  the  edge  of 
the  door  showed  her  exquisite  bare  arm  within.  "See? 
Then  my  husband  entered  slowly  and — as  soon  as  I 
saw  his  eyes,"  her  agitation  was  increasing,  "I  knew 
what  to  expect.  His  face  was  flushed.  He  had  been 
drinking.  He  looked  at  me  and — then  he  locked  the 
door — like  this.  I  crouched  away  from  him,  I  was 

frozen  with  terror,  but — but "  she  twined  her 

hands  in  distress.  "Oh,  you'll  hate  me !  I  know  you'll 
hate  me  1" 

"No!" 

"I  tried  so  hard  to  resist  him.  I  pleaded,  I  wept. 
I  begged  on  my  knees — like  this." 

"Please — please  don't,"  murmured  Christopher,  as 
he  felt  the  softness  of  her  supplicating  body. 

"But  Julian  was  pitiless.  He  caught  me  in  his  arms. 
I  fought  against  him.  I  struck  him  as  I  felt  his  loath 
some  kisses.  I  said  I  would  scream  for  help  and — he 
laughed  at  me.  Then " 

She  stopped  abruptly,  leaving  her  confession  unfin 
ished,  and,  standing  close  to  her  lover,  held  him  fas 
cinated  by  the  wild  appeal  of  her  eyes  and  the  heaving 
of  her  bosom. 

Suddenly  Christopher's  heart  froze  with  terror.  The 


THE  HOUR  OF  THE  DREAM         175 

dreaded  change  had  come.  This  glorious  young  crea 
ture  whose  glances  thrilled  him,  whose  flaunted  beauty 
maddened  him,  was  not  Penelope  any  more,  but  the 
other,  Fauvette,  the  temptress,  the  wanton. 

"Chris!"  she  stepped  before  him  splendid  in  the  in 
tensity  of  her  emotion.  Her  garment  was  disarranged, 
her  beautiful  hair  spread  over  her  white  shoulders. 
She  came  close  to  him — closer — and  clung  to  him. 

"Why — why  did  you  lock  that  door?"  he  asked  un 
steadily. 

"I  did  not  notice,"  she  answered  in  pretended  inno 
cence,  and  he  knew  that  she  was  lying.  "Do  you  mind, 
dear?  Do  you  mind  being  alone  with  me?"  Then, 
before  he  could  answer,  she  offered  her  lips.  "My  love ! 
My  husband!  Kiss  me!" 

It  was  too  much.  He  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and 
held  her.  He  knew  his  danger,  but  forgot  everything 
in  the  deliciousness  of  her  embraces. 

"Penelope !" 

She  drew  back  in  displeasure. 

"No!    I'm  not  Penelope.    Look  at  me!    Look!" 

What  was  it  the  soldier  read  in  those  siren  eyes — 
what  depths  of  allurement — what  sublime  degradation  ? 

"Fauvette !"  he  faltered. 

"Yes,  your  Fauvette.    Say  it!" 

He  said  it,  knowing  that  his  power  of  resistance  was 
breaking.  He  was  going  to  yield  to  her,  he  could  not 
help  yielding.  What  did  the  consequences  matter? 
She  was  too  beautiful. 

Then  slowly,  musically,  the  neighboring  chimes  re 
sounded. 


I76  POSSESSED 

A  quarter  to  one ! 

And  Christopher  remembered. 

God  I  What  should  he  do  ?  He  straightened  from 
her  with  hands  clenched  and  eyes  hardening. 

In  a  flash  she  saw  the  change.  She  knew  what  he 
was  thinking  and  pressed  close  to  him,  offering  again 
her  red  lips. 

"No!" 

"Don't  be  a  fool!  You  can  save  her,  your  goody- 
goody  Penelope.  It's  the  only  way.  I  will  leave  her 
alone,  except  occasionally — I  swear  I  will." 

"No!  You're  lying!"  It  seemed  as  if  he  repeated 
words  spoken  within  him. 

"Lying?"  Her  eyes  half  closed  over  slumberous 
fires.  "Do  you  think  Penelope  can  ever  love  you  as 
I  can — as  your  Fauvette  can?  Share  her  with  me 

or "  she  panted,  "or  you  will  lose  her  entirely. 

Penelope  dies  tomorrow  night,  you  know  that,  un 
less " 

Frantically  she  tried  to  encircle  him  with  her  arms, 
but  Herrick  repulsed  her.  Some  power  beyond  him 
self  was  strengthening  him. 

"Oh!"  she  cried  in  fury,  "you  don't  deserve  to  have 
a  beautiful  woman.  Very  well!  This  is  the  end!" 
She  darted  to  the  bedroom  door  and  unlocked  it. 
"Come!  I'll  show  you." 

Deathly  pale,  she  led  the  way  into  the  sitting-room 
and,  going  to  Christopher's  coat,  she  drew  out  a  small 
flask. 

"There!     This  is  the  danger  she  wrote  about.     / 


THE  HOUR  OF  THE  DREAM         177 

know.  Spiritual  danger!  Ha!  I'm  going  to  open 
this.  Yes,  I  am.  You  can't  stop  me." 

"Don't!    It's  death!" 

But  already  she  had  unscrewed  a  metal  stopper  and 
drawn  forth  a  small  glass  vial  filled  with  a  colorless 
liquid. 

"One  step  nearer,  and  I'll  smash  this  on  the  floor!" 
she  threatened.  "If  I  can't  have  you,  she  never  shall!" 

The  captain  faced  her  quietly,  knowing  well  what 
was  at  stake. 

"Penelope!" 

She  stamped  her  foot.  "I'm  not  Penelope.  I'm 
Fauvette.  I  hate  Penelope.  For  the  last  time — will 
you  do  what  I  want?" 

"No!" 

She  lifted  the  vial. 

"Stop!"  came  a  masterful  voice,  and,  turning,  they 
saw  Dr.  Leroy  standing  in  the  outer  doorway.  Back 
of  him  were  Seraphine  and  Dr.  Owen. 

"Give  that  to  me." 

The  psychologist  advanced  toward  her  slowly,  hold 
ing  out  his  hands.  Fauvette  stared  at  him,  trembling. 

"No!    I'll  throw  it  down." 

His  eyes  blazed  upon  her.  His  outspread  arms 
seemed  to  envelope  her. 

"You  cannot  throw  it  down!  Come  nearer!  Give 
it  to  me!" 

Like  a  frightened  child  she  obeyed. 

"Now  go  into  the  bedroom!     Lie  down!     Sleep!" 

Again  she  obeyed,  turning  and  walking  slowly  to  the 
bed;  but  there  she  paused  and  said  with  scornful  de- 


178  POSSESSED 

liberateness :  "You  can  drive  me  out  now,  but  I'll 
come  back  when  she  sleeps.  I'll  make  her  dream. 
Damn  you !  And  tomorrow  night — Ha !  You'll  see !" 
Dr.  Leroy's  stern  gaze  did  not  falter,  but  compelled 
Penelope  to  go  back  to  the  couch,  where  almost  imme 
diately  her  tragic  eyes  closed  in  slumber. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

PLAYING  WITH  FIRE 

WHAT  happened  on  the  last  day,  or  rather  the  last 
night,  of  Mrs.  Wells'  psychological  crisis  may  be  re 
garded  either  as  a  purely  subjective  phenomena,  a 
dream  or  a  startling  experience  of  the  soul,  or  as  some 
thing  that  came  from  without,  a  telepathic  or  spiritual 
istic  manifestation.  In  any  case  note  must  be  made  of 
the  testimony  of  Dr.  William  Owen,  an  extremely  ra 
tional  person,  that  after  midnight  on  this  occasion  he 
distinctly  saw  scarlet  lights  moving  about  the  darkened 
room  near  Penelope's  couch. 

The  patient  passed  the  day  quietly  (after  sleeping 
late)  and  was  advised  not  to  see  her  lover,  although 
Dr.  Leroy  did  not  insist  upon  this.  Mrs.  Wells  agreed, 
however,  that  any  conversation  with  Christopher  might 
be  harmfully  agitating,  and  was  content  to  send  him  a 
loving  message,  together  with  a  sealed  communication 
that  was  not  to  be  opened  unless — unless  things  went 
badly. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  pull  through  tonight, 
doctor?"  she  asked  tremulously  about  three  in  the 
afternoon. 

"I  am  sure  you  will,  Mrs.  Wells,  if  you  will  only 

179 


i8o  POSSESSED 

trust  me  and  do  what  I  have  told  you  to  do.     Your 
fate  is  in  your  own  hands — entirely." 

Dr.  Leroy  spoke  confidently,  but  she  shook  her  head 
in  distress  of  mind, 

"I  wish  I  could  believe  what  you  say.  I  would  give 
anything  to  feel  sure  that  my  mother  is  watching  over 
me,  trying  to  come  to  me;  but  I  can't  believe  it.  If 
she  wants  to  come,  why  doesn't  she  do  it?  Why  didn't 
she  come  to  me  last  night  when  I  needed  her  so  ter 
ribly?" 

"Seraphine  has  told  you  why,  she  says  the  conditions 
are  not  right.  Is  that  so  surprising?  Take  a  telephone 
— you  can't  talk  over  it  unless  the  connections  are 
right,  can  you?  Take  a  telescope  or  a  microscope — 
you  can  see  nothing  through  them  unless  the  instru 
ments  are  in  focus,  can  you?  Take  an  automobile — it 
will  not  move  an  inch  unless  all  the  parts  are  properly 
adjusted,  will  it?  You  may  have  the  finest  photographic 
camera  in  the  world,  yet  you  will  get  no  picture  unless 
you  expose  the  sensitive  plate  in  just  the  right  way — 
isn't  that  true?  Suppose  a  savage  refused  to  believe  in 
photography,  or  in  the  telephone,  or  the  telescope,  or 
in  any  of  our  great  inventions,  unless  they  would  oper 
ate  according  to  the  fancy  of  his  ignorant  mind,  regard 
less  of  scientific  laws?  What  results  would  he  get? 
The  very  same  kind  that  we  get  in  the  psychic  world  if 
we  refuse  to  obey  psychic  laws." 

The  fair  patient  moved  wearily  on  her  pillow  witK 
signs  of  increasing  discouragement. 

"I  have  not  refused  to  obey  psychic  laws,  I  don't 
know  what  the  laws  are.  How  can  I  believe  in  some- 


PLAYING  WITH  FIRE  181 

thing  that  is  entirely  unknown  to  me?  I  can't  do  it, 
I  can't  do  it." 

"But,  Mrs.  Wells,  when  so  much  is  at  stake,  when 
everything  is  at  stake,  can't  you  take  an  open-minded 
attitude  toward  these  mysteries?  Why  not  submit  to 
the  indicated  conditions  and  see  what  happens?  If 
there  is  only  one  chance  in  a  hundred  that  your  mother 
can  really  come  to  you  and  help  you,  why  not  take  that 
chance?  You  believe  that  your  mother  is  an  exalted 
spirit,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes.     I  am  sure  she  is." 

"You  don't  doubt  that  she  would  be  glad  to  help  you 
in  your  present  trouble,  if  she  could,  do  you?" 

"No,  of  course  not,  but  what  can  I  do?  I  say  my 
prayers,  I  try  to  have  good  thoughts — what  else  can 
I  do?" 

The  spiritual  healer  answered  with  sudden  impres- 
siveness. 

"Penelope,  you  must  cleanse  your  soul  of  evil. 
There  is  something  you  are  keeping  back — perhaps 
you  do  not  know  what  it  is  yourself.  I  can  only  tell 
you  to  think,  to  look  into  the  past,  to  search  into  your 
soul — just  as  if  you  were  coming  before  a  great,  wise, 
loving  Judge  who  cannot  be  deceived.  He  wants  you 
to  confess  something — I  don't  know  what  it  is,  you 
must  find  that  out  for  yourself — but  when  you  have 
confessed,  I  know  that  help  will  come  to  you  through 
your  mother.  Now  close  your  eyes.  Don't  speak. 
Think!  Think  of  your  mother." 

He  laid  his  hands  gently  on  her  forehead  and  for 
some  minutes  there  was  silence. 


1 82  POSSESSED 

"Now  I  shall  leave  you  alone.  In  an  hour  I  will 
send  Seraphine  to  you." 

Then  he  left  her. 

At  four  o'clock  Mrs.  Walters  came  in  with  an  arm 
ful  of  flowers  from  Christopher  and  the  two  women 
talked  of  indifferent  things  over  their  tea.  Then  they 
went  for  a  drive  in  the  park  and  Penelope  returned 
blooming  like  a  lovely  rose ;  but  not  one  word  did  she 
breathe  of  her  deeper  thoughts.  Seraphine  waited. 

Seven  o'clock! 

At  last  the  barrier  of  pride  and  reserve  began  to 
crumble.  Penelope  turned  to  her  old  friend,  trying  at 
first  to  speak  lightly,  but  her  troubled  eyes  told  the 
story  of  tension  within.  Then  came  the  confession — 
in  broken  words.  There  were  two  things  on  her  con 
science — one  that  she  had  done,  but  it  wasn't  exactly 
her  fault,  one  that  she  did  not  do,  but  she  meant  to  do 
it.  She  supposed  that  was  a  sin  just  the  same. 

Mrs.  Walters  smiled  encouragingly. 

"It  can't  be  so  serious  a  sin,  can  it?  Tell  me  every 
thing,  Pen." 

With  flaming  cheeks  the  young  widow  told  how  she 
had  meant  to  adopt  a  child — in  France — that  would 
really  have  been — her  own  child.  She  did  not  do  this 
because  she  met  Captain  Herrick,  but — she  would  have 
done  it.  The  other  thing  was  what  happened  on  the 
Fall  River  steamboat — with  Julian.  On  that  tragic 
summer  night,  she  had  finally  yielded  to  him  and — she 
had  wanted  to  yield! 

To  which  Seraphine  made  the  obvious  reply:  "Still, 
my  dear,  he  was  your  husband." 


PLAYING  WITH  FIRE  183 

"But  I  had  sworn  that  never — never — it  was  so — 
ignoble!  I  despised  him.  Then  I  despised  myself." 

The  medium  listened  thoughtfully. 

"You  trust  me,  don't  you,  Pen?  You  know  I  want 
to  do  what  is  best  for  you?"  She  passed  her  arm  af 
fectionately  around  her  distressed  friend. 

"Oh,  yes.  You  have  proved  it,  dearest.  I'll  never 
be  able  to  repay  your  love." 

Mrs.  Wells  began  to  cry  softly. 

"Please  don't.  We  need  all  our  courage,  our  intelli 
gence.  It  doesn't  matter  how  wrong  you  have  been  in 
the  past,  if  you  are  right  in  the  present.  The  trouble 
with  you,  dear  child,  is  that  you  cannot  see  the  truth, 
although  it  is  right  under  your  eyes." 

"But  I  am  telling  the  truth,"  Penelope  protested 
tearfully.  "I  am  not  keeping  anything  back." 

"You  don't  mean  to  keep  anything  back — but " 

The  psychic's  deep-set,  searching  eyes  seemed  to  read 
into  the  soul  of  the  fair  sufferer. 

"You  showed  me  parts  of  your  diary  once — what 
you  wrote  in  New  York  after  your  husband  died — 
before  you  went  to  France.  There  were  four  years—— 
you  remember?" 

"Yes." 

"How  would  you  interpret  those  four  years,  Pen? 
You  were  not  worried  about  money — Julian  left  you 
enough  to  live  on.  You  had  no  children,  no  responsi 
bilities-.  You  were  in  splendid  health  and  very  beau 
tiful.  What  was  in  your  mind  most  of  the  time?  How 
did  you  get  that  idea  of  adopting  a  child  in  France? 


1 84  POSSESSED 

It  must  have  come  gradually.  How  did  it  come  ?  Why 
did  it  come?" 

"Because  I  was — lonely." 

"Is  that  all?    Think!" 

There  was  silence. 

"Why  did  you  dance  so  much  during  those  four 
years?" 

"I  like  dancing.     It's  good  exercise." 

"And  all  those  allurements  of  dress — clinging  skirts, 
low-cut  waists,  no  corsets — why  was  that?" 

"I  hate  corsets.  I  don't  need  them.  I  can't  breathe 
in  corsets." 

"And  those  insidious  perfumes?" 

"I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it." 

"Those  are  little  indications.  But  take  the  main 
point,  your  desire  to  have  a  child — of  your  own.  Do 
you  really  love  children,  Pen?  Have  you  ever  shown 
that  you  do  ?  Did  you  try  to  have  children  when  you 
were  married?" 

"Not  his  children !    God  forbid !" 

Seraphine  hesitated  as  if  dreading  to  wound  her 
friend. 

"I  must  go  on,  dear.  We  must  get  to  the  bottom  of 
this.  Suppose  you  had  done  what  you  intended  to  do? 
And  had  come  back  to  America  with  an  adopted  child? 
And  suppose  no  one  had  ever  known  the  truth,  about 
it — do  you  think  you  would  have  been  happy?" 

Penelope  sighed  wearily. 

"Is  a  woman  ever  happy?" 

"Wait!  Let  us  take  one  point.  You  have  always 
loved  men's  society,  haven't  you?  That's  natural, 


PLAYING  WITH  FIRE  185 

they're  all  crazy  about  you.  Well,  do  you  think  that 
would  have  changed  just  because  you  had  a  child?  Do 
you?" 

"No — no,  I  suppose  not." 

"You  would  have  been  just  as  beautiful.  You  would 
have  gone  on  wearing  expensive  clothes,  wouldn't  you? 
You  would  have  kept  up  the  old  round  of  teas  and 
dinners,  theatres,  dances,  late  suppers — with  a  train 
of  men  dangling  after  you — flirting  men,  married  men 
— men  who  try  to  kiss  women  in  taxicabs — you  know 
what  I  mean?" 

Penelope  bit  her  red  lips  at  this  sordid  picture. 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  don't  think  I  would  have  done 
that.  I  would  have  changed,  I  intended  to  change. 
That  was  why  I  wanted  a  child — to  give  me  something 
worthy  of  my  love,  something  to  serve  as  an  outlet  for 
my  emotions." 

The  medium's  eyes  were  unfathomably  sad  and 
yearning. 

"Is  that  true,  Pen?  A  child  calls  for  ceaseless  care 
— unselfishness.  You  know  that?  Did  you  really  long 
for  a  child  in  a  spirit  of  unselfish  love?  Did  you?" 

But  Penelope  was  deaf  to  this  touching  appeal. 

"Certainly,"  she  answered  sharply.  "I  wanted  a 
child  to  satisfy  my  emotional  nature.  What  else  do 
you  think  I  wanted  it  for?" 

Mrs.  Walters'  face  shone  with  ineffable  tenderness. 

"That  is  what  I  want  you  to  find  out,  my  darling. 
When  you  have  answered  that  question  I  believe  the 
barrier  that  keeps  your  dear  mother  away  will  be 


1 86  POSSESSED 

removed.     Now  I  am  going  to  leave  you  to  your  own 
thoughts.    God  bless  you !" 

At  ten  o'clock  Dr.  Leroy  directed  Mrs.  Wells  to 
prepare  herself  for  the  night  and  told  her  she  was  to 
sleep  in  a  different  room,  a  large  chamber  that  had 
been  made  ready  on  the  floor  below.  As  Penelope  en 
tered  this  room  a  dim  light  revealed  some  shadowy 
pieces  of  furniture  and  at  the  back  a  recess  hung  with 
black  curtains.  In  this  was  a  couch  and  two  chairs 
and  on  the  wall  a  familiar  old  print,  "Rock  of  Ages," 
showing  a  woman  clinging  to  a  cross  in  a  tempest. 

"Please  lie  down,  Mrs.  Wells,"  said  Leroy  with 
cheerful  friendliness.  You  don't  mind  these  electrics  ?" 

He  turned  on  a  strong  white  light  that  shone  down 
upon  the  patient  and  threw  the  rest  of  the  room  into 
darkness.  Then  Penelope,  exquisitely  lovely  in  her 
white  robe,  stretched  herself  on  the  couch,  while  the 
doctor  and  Seraphine  seated  themselves  beside  her. 

"This  light  will  make  you  sleep  better  when  I  turn  it 
off,"  explained  the  physician.  Then  he  added:  "I 
will  ask  Dr.  Owen  to  come  in  a  little  later." 

Eleven  o'clock! 

Not  yet  had  the  patient  spoken  and  time  was  passing, 
the  minutes  that  remained  were  numbered.  Mrs.  Wal 
ters  essayed  by  appealing  glances  to  open  the  obstin 
ately  closed  doors  of  Penelope's  spiritual  consciousness, 
but  it  was  in  vain. 

Half  past  eleven ! 

The  spiritual  healer  rose,  his  face  set  with  an  un 
alterable  purpose. 


PLAYING  WITH  FIRE  187 

"I  will  turn  down  the  light,  Mrs.  Wells,"  he  said 
quietly.  "I  want  you  to  compose  yourself.  Remem 
ber  that  God  is  watching  over  you.  You  are  God's 
child.  He  will  guard  you  from  all  evil.  Hold  that 
thought  strongly  as  you  go  to  sleep." 

Penelope  closed  her  eyes.  Her  face  was  deathly 
pale  in  the  shadows.  The  minutes  passed. 

"I — I  am  afraid  to  go  to  sleep,"  the  sufferer  mur 
mured,  and  her  hands  opened  and  closed  nervously  as 
if  they  were  clutching  at  something. 

"Think  of  your  mother,  dear,"  soothed  Seraphine. 
"Her  pure  spirit  is  near  you,  trying  to  come  nearer. 
Oh  God,  keep  Penelope,  Thy  loving  child,  under  the 
close  guardianship  of  her  mother's  exalted  spirit  in  this 
her  hour  of  peril." 

Twelve  o'clock  by  the  musical,  slow-chiming  bells  I 

Then  at  last  Penelope  spoke,  her  face  transfigured 
with  spiritual  light  and  beauty. 

"Doctor, — I — I  know  I  have  only  a  few  minutes," 
she  began  haltingly,  but  almost  immediately  became 
calm,  as  if  some  new  strength  or  vision  had  been  ac 
corded  her.  "I  realize  that  my  troubles  have  come 
from  selfishness  and — sensuality.  I  have  deceived  my 
self.  I  blamed  my  husband  for  encouraging  these  de 
sires  in  me,  but — I  knew  what  kind  of  a  man  my  hus 
band  was  before  I  married  him.  There  was  another 
man,  a  much  finer  man,  who  asked  me  to  be  his  wife, 
but  I  refused  him  because — in  a  way  I — wanted  the 
kind  of  husband  that — my  husband  was." 

She  went  on  rapidly,  speaking  in  a  low  tone  but  dis 
tinctly  : 


1 88  POSSESSED 

"In  the  years  after  my  husband's  death  I  was — 
playing  with  fire.  I  craved  admiration.  I  wanted  to 
go  as  near  the  danger  point — with  men — as  I  dared. 
I  deceived  myself  when  I  said  I  wanted  a  child — of  my 
own — to  satisfy  my  emotional  nature.  What  I  really 
wanted  was  an  excuse — to — give  myself — to  a  man." 

Some  power  beyond  herself  upheld  the  penitent  in 
this  hard  ordeal.  Her  eyes  remained  fixed  on  the  Cross 
to  which  she  seemed  to  cling  in  spirit  even  as  the  woman 
pictured  there  clung  to  the  Cross  with  outstretched 
arms. 

There  was  an  impressive  silence,  then  the  spiritual 
teacher,  his  voice  vibrant  with  tenderness  and  faith, 
spoke  these  words  of  comfort: 

"Penelope,  you  have  cleansed  your  soul.  You  can 
sleep  without  fear.  When  your  dream  begins  you  will 
know  that  the  powers  of  love  are  guarding  you.  You 
are  God's  child.  No  harm  can  befall  you,  for  you  will 
reach  out  to  the  Cross,  you  will  reach  out  to  the  Cross!" 

"Yes,"  she  murmured  faintly.  Her  eyelids  fluttered 
and  closed.  She  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief,  then  her 
breathing  became  regular  and  her  face  took  on  an  ex 
pression  of  lovely  serenity.  She  was  sleeping. 

And  then  the  dream ! 

Penelope  was  in  that  tragic  stateroom  once  more. 
She  heard  the  throb  of  engines  and  sounds  on  the  deck 
overhead — the  echoing  beat  of  footsteps,  while  the 
steady  swish  of  the  waters  came  in  through  the  open 
window.  She  turned  restlessly  on  her  wide  brass  bed 
trying  to  sleep. 

How  oppressive  was  the  night!     She  looked  long- 


PLAYING  WITH  FIRE  189 

ingly  at  the  stateroom  door  which  she  had  fixed  ajar 
on  its  hook.  If  she  could  only  go  out  where  the  fresh 
breezes  were  blowing  and  spread  her  blanket  on  the 
deck — what  a  heavenly  relief! 

Penelope  sat  up  against  her  pillows  and  looked  out 
over  the  sighing  waters  illumined  by  an  August  moon. 
In  the  distance  she  watched  the  flashes  of  a  lighthouse 
and  counted  the  seconds  between  them.  .  .  . 

Suddenly  she  froze  with  terror  at  the  sight  of  a  black 
sleeve,  a  man's  arm,  pushed  in  cautiously  through  the 
door,  and  a  moment  later  Julian  entered.  She  saw  him 
plainly  in  the  moonlight.  He  wore  a  dinner  coat.  He 
looked  handsome  but  dissipated.  His  face  was  flushed, 
his  dress  disordered.  He  came  to  her  bed  and  caught 
her  in  his  arms.  He  kissed  her.  He  drew  her  to  him, 
close  to  him.  She  remembered  the  perfume  of  his  hair. 
He  said  she  belonged  to  him.  He  was  not  going  to  let 
her  go.  Promises  did  not  matter — nothing  mattered. 
This  was  a  delicious  summer  night  and 

"Oh  God,  let  Thy  love  descend  upon  Penelope  and 
strengthen  her,"  prayed  Seraphine,  kneeling  by  the 
couch. 

The  dream  moved  on  relentlessly  toward  its  inevita 
ble  catastrophe.  Penelope  tried  to  resist  the  intruder, 
but  she  knew  it  was  in  vain.  She  wept,  protested, 
pleaded,  but  she  knew  that  presently  she  would  be  swept 
in  a  current  of  fierce  desire,  she  would  wish  to  sur 
render,  she  would  be  incapable  of  not  surrendering. 

"Oh  God,  let  the  spirit  of  the  mother  come  close  to 
her  imperilled  child,"  prayed  Seraphine. 

In  her  dream  Penelope  was  yielding.    She  had  ceased 


1 9o  POSSESSED 

to  struggle.  She  was  clasped  in  her  husband's  arms 
and  already  was  turning  willing  and  responsive  lips  to 
his,  when  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  porthole,  through 
which  the  distant  lighthouse  was  sending  her  a  message 
— it  seemed  like  a  message  of  love  and  encouragement. 
She  saw  the  mighty  shaft  towering  serenely  above  dark 
rocks  and  crashing  waters,  and  watched  it  change  with 
beautiful  gradations  of  light  into  a  rugged  cross  to 
which  a  woman  was  clinging  desperately.  The  waves 
beat  against  her,  the  winds  buffeted  her,  but  she  cried 
to  God  for  help  and — then,  as  she  slept  Penelope  re 
called  Dr.  Leroy's  words  and,  still  dreaming,  stretched 
out  her  hands  to  the  Cross,  praying  with  all  her  strength 
that  her  sins  might  be  forgiven,  that  her  soul  might 
be  cleansed,  that  she  might  be  saved  from  evil  by  the 
power  of  God's  love. 

Instantly  the  torture  of  her  dream  was  relieved. 
The  brutal  arms  that  had  clasped  her  fell  away.  The 
ravisher,  cheated  of  his  victim,  drew  back  scowling  and 
slowly  faded  from  her  view,  while  from  a  distance  a 
white  figure  with  countenance  radiant  and  majestic  ap 
proached  swiftly  and  Penelope  knew  it  was  the  pure 
spirit  of  her  mother  coming  to  save  her,  and  presently 
on  her  brow  she  felt  a  kiss  of  rapturous  healing. 

"My  child!"  came  the  dream  words,  perfectly  dis 
tinct,  although  they  were  unspoken.  "God  will  bless 
you  and  save  you." 

Penelope  smiled  in  her  sleep  and  her  soul  was  filled 
with  inexpressible  peace. 

"/  saw  the  mother's  exalted  spirit  hovering  over  her 
child,"  Seraphine  wrote  of  this  clairvoyant  vision.  "/ 


PLAYING  WITH  FIRE  191 

saw  the  evil  entity,  leering  hideously,  go  out  of  Penel 
ope  in  a  glow  of  scarlet  light.  I  knew  that  the  wicked 
dream  was  broken.  My  darling  was  saved." 

An  hour  passed,  during  which  the  two  doctors  and 
the  medium  watched  anxiously  by  the  sleeping  patient. 

Finally  the  young  woman  stirred  naturally  and 
opened  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  Dr.  Leroy!"  she  cried  joyfully.  "It  is  true — 
what  you  said.  It  stopped — the  dream  stopped.  And 
my  mother  came  to  me  in  my  sleep.  She  kissed  me. 
She  blessed  me.  Oh !"  Penelope  glanced  eagerly  about 
the  room. 

Leroy  greeted  her  with  grave  kindness. 

"Your  troubles  are  all  over,  Mrs.  Wells.  You  need 
never  have  any  more  of  these  fears." 

"Is  that  really  true?" 

"Yes,  I  am  quite  sure  of  what  I  say." 

"How  wonderful!" 

He  bowed  gravely. 

"God's  love  is  very  wonderful." 

Again  the  radiant  eyes  seemed  to  search  for  some 
one.  Penelope  glanced  appealingly  at  Seraphine. 

"I  understand,  dear,"  beamed  Mrs.  Walters.  "He 
is  waiting  outside.  He  will  be  so  happy,"  and  a  mo 
ment  later  Christopher  entered. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PRIDE 

(Fragments  from  Penelope's  Diary} 

Paris,  Three  Months  Later. 

IT  is  three  months  since  I  wrote  this  diary,  three 
lonely  months  since  I  said  good-bye  to  Christopher,  or 
rather  wrote  good-bye,  for  I  should  never  have  had 
the  courage  to  leave  him,  if  I  had  tried  to  give  him 
my  reasons — face  to  face.  I  have  never  seen  him  or 
heard  from  him  since  that  terrible  night  at  Dr.  Leroy's 
when  the  evil  cloud  was  lifted  from  my  soul  and  I 
knew  and  remembered — everything! 

I  have  never  heard  from  Seraphine.  They  do  not 
even  know  where  I  am,  they  must  not  know — that  is 
part  of  my  plan,  but  it  is  frightfully  hard.  I  pray  for 
strength  to  be  reconciled  to  my  life  of  loneliness  and 
to  find  comfort  in  good  works;  but  the  strength  has 
not  come  to  me.  Every  day  I  think  of  Christopher  and 
the  separation  from  him  grows  harder  and  harder. 

Life  is  not  worth  living. 

*  * 

* 

I  am  perfectly  sane  and  normal,  just  as  I  was  before 
my  hallucinations.  No  more  voices,  or  fears,  or  wicked 

192 


PRIDE  193; 

dreams.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  could  dream  of  Chris 
topher;  but  I  never  do,  I  never  dream  of  anything.  I 
suppose  I  should  be  grateful  for  that  and  glad  that 
my  cure  is  so  complete.  Oh,  dear ! 


I  wear  myself  out  at  the  dispensary  for  poor  French 
children  and  try  my  best  to  smile  and  be  cheerful  and 
to  interest  myself  in  their  pitiful  needs  and  sorrows; 
but  my  heart  is  not  in  this  work  and  my  smiles  are 
forced.  Many  nights  I  cry  myself  to  sleep. 

And  yet  I  did  right.  I  go  over  it  all  in  my  mind 
and  I  see  that  I  did  right.  There  was  nothing  else 
for  me  to  do.  I  had  to  decide  for  both  of  us,  and  I 
decided.  I  thought  of  those  dreadful  things  that  I 
did,  and — meant  to  do — those  things  that  neither 
Christopher  nor  I  can  possibly  forget  .  .  .  how  could 
Christopher  ever  have  confidence  in  me  as  his  wife? 
How  could  we  ever  be  happy  together  with  those  mem 
ories  between  us? 

*  * 

* 

I  try  to  remember  the  exact  words  that  I  wrote  to 
my  lover  that  morning  when  I  went  away.  I  hope 
I  did  not  make  him  suffer  too  much.  But  of  course  he 
suffered — he  must  have.  I  told  him  we  could  not  see 
each  other  any  more,  or  write  to  each  other,  or — 
anything.  I  knew  I  would  have  been  too  weak  to  re 
sist  the  call  of  my  love  and  he  would  have  been  too 
fine,  too  chivalrous,  to  let  me  go.  He  would  have  said: 
"You  are  cured  now,  dear"  (which  I  really  am)  "and 


194  POSSESSED 

there  is  no  reason  why  we  should  not  be  married- 


which  is  true,  except  that  he  would  always  have  had 
the  fear,  deep  down  in  his  heart,  that  I  might  relapse 
into  what  I  had  been.  How  could  a  high-minded  man 
like  Chris  bear  the  thought  that  the 'woman  he  loved, 
the  woman  who  was  to  be  the  mother  of  his  children, 
had  acted  like  a  wanton?  He  could  not  bear  it.  It 
is  evident  that  I  did  right. 
And  yet 


I  often  wonder  what  another  woman  would  have 
done  in  my  place.  She  loves  a  man  as  I  loved  Chris 
topher — as  I  love  him  still.  She  is  proud,  she  has 
always  been  admired,  she  cannot  bear  the  thought  of 
being  pitied.  And  suddenly  she  learns  that  she  has 
disgraced  herself,  she  has  violated  the  sacred  tradi 
tions  of  modesty  that  restrain  all  women.  She  has 
acted  like  an  abandoned  woman  towards  the  man  she 
worships.  God!  It  is  true  she  has  done  this  without 
knowing  it,  without  being  responsible  for  it,  but  she 
has  done  it,  and  that  ineffaceable  memory  will  always 
shame  her,  if  she  becomes  his  wife.  Day  after  day 
she  will  read  it  in  his  eyes,  in  his  reticencies,  in  his 
efforts  to  be  cheerful — she  will  know  that  he  remem 
bers — what  she  was! 

NO!  She  could  not  bear  it,  no  woman  with  any 
pride  could  bear  it. 

Pride! 

What  is  pride?  Is  it  a  good  thing  or  a  bad  thing? 
•Would  I  be  a  finer  woman  if  I  could  endure  this  hu- 


PRIDE  195 

miliation  and  gracefully  accept  forgiveness?  I  sup 
pose  some  women  would  take  it  all  simply,  like  a  grate 
ful  patient  cured  of  an  illness.  Alas!  that  is  not  my 

nature. 

* 

How  little  we  know  ourselves !  We  all  wear  masks 
of  one  kind  or  another  that  hide  our  true  personalities 
even  from  ourselves.  How  will  a  woman  act  in  sud 
den  peril?  In  a  moral  crisis?  In  the  face  of  shat 
tering  disgrace?  Let  the  most  beautiful  wife  and 
mother  realize  that  some  painful  chapter  in  her  life  is 
to  be  opened  to  the  world — what  price  will  she  not  pay 
to  avert  this  scandal? 

Julian  had  a  friend  who  on  a  certain  night  stood  be 
fore  a  locked  door  with  an  officer  of  the  law.  His 
wife  was  on  the  other  side  of  that  door — with  a  com 
panion  in  dishonor.  The  husband  was  armed.  He  was 
absolutely  within  his  rights.  They  broke  down  the 
door.  And  then 

Not  one  of  those  tragic  three  could  have  told  in 
advance  what  would  happen  when  that  door  crashed  in. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  the  woman  alone  was  calm — coldly 
calm. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  am  guilty.  Now  shoot!  Why 
don't  you  shoot?  You  are  afraid  to  shoot!" 

Which  was  true. 

The  husband  was  afraid;  and  the  lover  was  more 
afraid;  it  was  the  erring  wife  who  cut  the  best  figure. 
But  who  could  have  foreseen  this  denouement? 


i96  POSSESSED 

After  all  I  only  did  those  abominable  things  because 
I  was  ill — when  I  was  not  myself;  whereas  now  I  am 
well,  and  the  evil  has  passed  from  me.  Besides,  I 
only  showed  that  wicked  side  of  my  nature  to  Chris 
topher,  through  my  love;  it  is  inconceivable  that  I 
could  ever  have  acted  that  way  with  another  man. 
Christopher  knows  that.  He  knows  there  is  no  pos 
sible  doubt  about  that.  How  much  difference  does  this 
knowledge  make  to  him — I  wonder. 


I  am  going  to  leave  Paris.  I  am  too  unhappy  here. 
It  seems  there  is  a  great  need  for  nurses  at  Lourdes — 
that  strange  miracle  place  where  pilgrims  go  to  be 
healed — and  I  have  volunteered  for  service.  If  the 
sick  are  really  cured  by  miracles  I  don't  see  why  they 
need  nurses;  but  never  mind  that.  It  will  give  me  a 
change  and  I  may  see  some  unfortunate  men  and 
women  who  are  worse  off  than  I  am.  Oh,  if  God  would 
only  work  a  miracle  so  that  I  can  have  Christopher 
and  make  him  happy!  But  that  can  never  be.  Why 
not?  Why  do  I  say  that  after  what  has  happened  to 
me  ?  Was  it  not  a  miracle  that  saved  me  from  those 
hideous  evils?  Then  why  not  other  miracles? 


At  Lourdes.     Two  Weeks  Later. 

Speaking  of  miracles,  I  am  living  among  them.     I 

am  working  in  the  Bureau  de  Constatations  where  the 

mlracules — those    who    are    supposed    to  have    been 

miraculously  healed — are  questioned  and  examined  by 


PRIDE  197 

doctors,  Catholics,  Protestants,  Agnostics,  Atheists, 
who  come  from  all  over  the  world  to  investigate  these 
cures  from  the  standpoint  of  a  religion  or  pure  science. 
What  sights  I  have  seen !  Men  and  women  of  all  ages 
and  walks  of  life  testifying  that  the  waters  of  the  sacred 
grotto  have  freed  them  from  this  or  that  malady,  from 
tumors,  lameness,  deafness,  blindness,  tuberculosis, 
nervous  trouble  and  numerous  other  afflictions.  By 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  these  unfortunates 
crowd  here  from  the  four  corners  of  the  earth,  an  end 
less  procession  of  believers,  and  every  year  sees  scores 
of  the  incurable  cured,  instantly  cured — even  the  scepti 
cal  admit  this,  although  they  interpret  the  facts  differ 
ently.  Some  say  it  is  auto-suggestion,  others  speak  of 
mass  hypnotism,  others  regard  it  as  a  scientific  phenom 
enon  not  yet  understood  like  the  operation  of  the 
X-rays.  And  many  wise  men  are  satisfied  with  the 
simple  explanation  that  it  is  the  work  of  God,  mani 
fested  today  for  those  who  have  faith  exactly  as  in 
Bible  times. 


I  was  stabbed  with  poignant  memories  this  afternoon 
when  a  tall  black-bearded  peasant  told  the  doctors  that 
his  father,  who  accompanied  him,  and  who  had  been  in 
sane,  a  violent  neurasthenic,  shut  up  in  an  asylum  for 
four  years,  had  been  restored  by  the  blessed  waters  to 
perfect  health  and  had  shown  no  abnormality  of  body 
or  mind  for  eight  years.  These  statements  were  veri 
fied  by  scientists  and  doctors. 

Eight  years!     If  I  really  believe  in  the  permanent 


198  POSSESSED 

recovery  of  this  poor  man,  as  the  doctors  do,  why  am 
I  doubtful  about  my  own  permanent  recovery?  The 
answer  is  that  I  am  not  doubtful  for  myself,  but  for 
Christopher.  He  might  reason  like  this,  he  might  say 
to  himself — he  is  so  loyal  that  he  would  die  rather 
than  say  it  to  me:  "I  know  Penelope  has  been  re 
stored  to  her  normal  condition  of  mind,  but  that  nor 
mal  condition  includes  a  strong  inherited  and  developed 
tendency  towards — certain  things," — my  cheeks  burn 
with  shame  as  I  write  this.  "How  do  I  know  that  this 
tendency  in  her,  even  if  she  remains  herself,  will  not 
make  trouble  again — for  both  of  us?" 

How  could  Christopher  be  sure  about  this? 

He  could  not  be  sure! 

So  I  did  right  to  leave  him. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   MIRACLE 

(From  Penelope's  Diary) 

Lourdes.     A  Week  Later. 

TODAY,  with  a  multitude  of  the  afflicted,  I  bathed  in 
the  piscine,  a  long  trough  filled  with  holy  water  from 
the  grotto.  The  water  was  cold  and  not  very  clean 
(for  hours  it  had  received  bodies  carrying  every  dis 
ease  known  to  man),  but  as  I  lay  there,  wrapped  in  a 
soaking  apron  and  immersed  to  the  head,  I  felt  an  in 
describable  peace  possessing  my  soul.  Was  it  the  two 
priests  who  held  my  hands  and  encouraged  me  with 
kindly  eyes?  Was  it  the  shouts  and  rejoicings,  the 
continual  prayers  of  pilgrims  all  about  me?  Or  was 
it  a  sudden  overwhelming  sense  of  my  own  unworthi- 
ness,  of  my  ingratitude  and  lack  of  faith  and  a  rush  of 
new  desire  to  begin  my  life  all  over  again,  to  forget 
my  selfish  repining?  Whatever  it  was  I  know  that  as 
I  arose  from  the  bath  and  bowed  before  the  statue  of 
the  Blessed  Virgin,  I  was  caught  by  a  spiritual  fervor 
that  seemed  to  lift  me  in  breathless  ecstasy. 

A  young  woman  who  was  blind  stood  beside  me, 
splashing  water  from  a  hand  basin  upon  her  reddened, 
sightless  eyelids,  and  praying  desperately.  Together 
with  her  I  prayed  as  I  never  had  prayed,  crying  the 

199 


200  POSSESSED 

words  aloud,  over  and  over  again,  as  she  did,  while 
tears  poured  down  my  cheeks : 

"Oh,  Marie,  conque  sans  peche,  prlez  pour  nous  qui 
avons  recours  a  vous!" 

As  I  came  away  and  started  back  to  the  Bureau, 
walking  slowly  under  the  blazing  Pyrenees  sun,  I  knew 
that  an  extraordinary  change  had  taken  place  in  me. 
I  was  not  the  same  woman  any  more.  I  would  never 
again  be  the  same  woman.  I  was  like  the  child  I  knew 
about  that  had  been  miraculously  cured  of  infantile 
paralysis;  or  like  the  widow  I  had  spoken  to  who  had 
been  miraculously  cured  of  a  fistula  in  the  arm  that 
had  been  five  times  vainly  operated  upon;  or  like  the 
old  woman  I  had  seen  who  had  been  miraculously  cured 
of  an  "incurable"  tumor  that  had  caused  her  untold 
suffering  for  twenty-two  years.  I  was  a  miravulee,  like 
these  others,  hundreds  of  others,  one  more  case  that 
would  be  carefully  noted  down  by  skeptical  investiga 
tors  on  their  neatly  ruled  sheets,  if  only  the  mysteries 
of  a  sick  soul  could  be  revealed! 

Suddenly  a  great  burst  of  singing  drew  my  atten 
tion  to  the  open  space  beyond  the  gleaming  white  church 
with  its  sharp-pointed  towers,  and  I  drew  nearer,  push 
ing  my  way  through  a  dense  multitude  gathered  to  wit 
ness  the  procession  of  pilgrims  and  the  Blessing  of 
the  Sick.  In  all  the  world  there  is  no  such  sight  as  this, 
nothing  that  can  stir  the  human  soul  so  deeply.  Inside 
the  concourse,  fringing  the  great  crowds,  lay  the  af 
flicted — on  litters,  on  reclining  chairs,  on  blankets 
spread  over  the  ground;  standing  and  kneeling,  men, 
women  and  children  from  all  lands  and  of  all  stations, 


THE  MIRACLE  201 

pallid-faced,  emaciated,  suffering,  dying,  brought  here 
to  supplicate  for  help  when  all  other  help  has  failed 
them. 

"Seigneur,  nous  vous  adorons!"  chanted  a  priest  with 
golden  voice  and  ten  thousand  tongues  responded : 

"Seigneur,  nous  vous  adorons!" 

"Jesus,  Fits  de  Marie,  ayez  pitie  de  nous!"  came 
the  inspired  cry. 

"Jesus,  Fils  de  Marie,  ayez  pitie  de  nous!"  crashed 
the  answer. 

"H os anna!    Hosanna  au  Fils  de  David!" 

"H os anna!  Hosanna  au  Fils  de  David!"  thundered 
the  multitude,  and  the  calm  hills  resounded. 

It  was  an  immense,  an  indescribable  moment,  not  to 
be  resisted.  I  felt  myself  literally  in  the  presence  of 
God,  and  choking,  almost  dying  with  emotion,  I  waited 
for  what  was  to  come. 

Suddenly  at  the  far  end  of  the  crowd  a  great  shout 
ing  started  and  spread  like  a  powder-train,  with  a 
violent  clapping  of  hands. 

"A  miracle!     A  miracle!"  the  cries  proclaimed. 

They  told  me  afterwards  that  five  miraculous  cures 
were  accomplished  at  this  moment,  but  1  knew  nothing 
about  it.  My  eyes  were  closed.  I  had  fallen  to  my 
knees  in  the  dust  and  was  sobbing  my  heart  out,  not  in 
grief  but  in  joy,  for  /  knew  that  all  was  well  with  me 
now  and  would  be  in  the  days  to  come.  I  knew  that 
Christopher  would  be  restored  to  me,  and  that  I  would 
be  allowed  to  make  him  happy.  There  would  be  no 
more  doubt  or  fear  in  either  of  us — only  love.  /  knew 
this! 


202  POSSESSED 

As  I  knelt  there  filled  with  a  spirit  of  infinite  faith 
and  serenity,  it  seemed  as  if,  above  the  tumult  of  the 
crowd,  I  heard  my  name  spoken  gently — "Penelope !" 

I  knew,  of  course,  that  it  could  not  be  a  real  voice, 
for  I  was  a  stranger  here,  yet  there  was  nothing  dis 
turbing  to  me  in  this  illusion.  It  came  rather  like  a 
comforting  benediction,  as  if  some  higher  part  of  me 
had  inwardly  expressed  approval  of  my  prayerful  as 
pirations,  and  had  confirmed  my  belief  that  Christopher 
would  be  restored  to  me. 

"Penelope!"  the  voice  spoke  again,  this  time  with 
unmistakable  distinctness,  and  now  I  opened  my  eyes 
and  saw  Seraphine  standing  before  me. 

"Seraphine!  Where  did  you  come  from?  I  thought 
you  were  in  America — in  New  York." 

Smiling  tenderly  she  helped  me  to  my  feet  and  led 
me  away  from  the  multitude. 

"Let  us  go  where  we  can  talk  quietly,"  she  said. 

"We  will  go  to  the  hospice,  where  I  am  staying," 
I  replied,  not  marvelling  very  much,  but  more  than 
ever  filled  with  the  knowledge  that  God  was  guiding 
and  protecting  me. 

"This  has  been  a  wonderful  day  for  me,  Seraphine," 
I  told  her  when  we  came  to  my  room,  "the  most  won 
derful  day  in  my  whole  life." 

"I  know,  dear,"  she  answered  calmly,  as  if  nothing 
could  surprise  her  either. 

Then  I  explained  everything  that  had  happened — 
why  I  had  left  America  so  suddenly,  why  I  had  felt 
that  I  must  never  see  Christopher  again. 

"But  you  don't  feel  that  way  any  more?"  she  asked 


THE  MIRACLE  203 

me  with  a  look  of  strange  understanding  in  her  deep 
eyes. 

"No,"  said  I,  "everything  is  changed  now.  My 
fears  are  gone.  I  see  that  I  must  count  upon  Chris 
topher  to  have  the  same  faith  and  courage  that  I  have 
in  my  own  heart.  Why  should  I  expect  to  bear  the 
whole  burden  of  our  future?  He  must  bear  his  part 
of  it.  The  responsibility  goes  with  the  love,  doesn't  it? 
I  saw  that  this  afternoon — it  came  to  me  like  a  flash 
when  the  procession  passed.  Isn't  it  wonderful? 

"Dear  child,  the  working  of  God's  love  for  His 
children  is  always  wonderful.  This  is  a  place  of 
miracles" — she  paused  as  if  searching  into  my  soul — 
"and  the  greatest  miracle  is  yet  to  come." 

I  felt  the  color  flooding  to  my  cheeks. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  must  go  back  a  little,  Penelope,  and  tell  you 
something  important.  You  haven't  asked  about  Cap 
tain  Herrick." 

"Is  he — is  he  well?"  I  stammered. 

She  shook  her  head  ominously. 

"No.  He  is  far  from  well.  You  did  not  realize, 
dear,  what  an  effect  that  letter  of  yours  would  have 
upon  him.  It  was  a  mortal  blow." 

I  tried  to  speak,  but  I  could  not;  my  bosom  rose  and 
fell  with  quick  little  gasping  breaths,  as  if  I  was  suffo 
cating. 

"There  was  no  particular  illness,"  my  friend  con 
tinued,  "just  a  general  fading  away,  a  slow  discourage 
ment.  He  had  no  interest  in  anything,  and  about  a 


204  POSSESSED 

month  ago  Doctor  Owen  told  me  the  poor  fellow  would 
not  live  long  unless  we  could  find  you." 

"Oh,  if  I  had  only  known!  If  I  had  dreamed  that 
he  would  care  so — so  much,"  I  sobbed.  "How — how 
did  you  find  me?" 

Seraphine  answered  with  that  far-away,  mystic  look 
in  her  eyes:  "It  was  your  mother,  dear — she  told  me 
we  must  go  to  Lourdes,  she  said  it  quite  distinctly,  she 
said  we  must  sail  that  very  week,  or  it  would  be  too 
late — and  we  did  sail." 

I  stared  at  her  with  widening,  frightened  eyes. 

"Seraphine!  You  don't  mean  that — that  Chris 
topher  is — here?"  I  cried. 

The  clairvoyant  bowed  her  head  slowly. 

"He  is  here,  at  the  hotel,  but  he  is  very  ill.  He  took 
cold  on  the  ship  and — it  got  worse.  He  has  pneu 
monia." 

"Oh!"  I  breathed.    I  could  feel  my  lips  go  white. 

"The  doctor  is  with  him  now,  and  a  trained  nurse. 
I  left  them  to  search  for  you.  I  knew  I  should  find  you 
— somewhere." 

I  rose  quickly  and  caught  my  companion's  arm. 

"Come  !    We  must  go  to  him." 

"No!  You  cannot  see  him  until  tomorrow.  This 
is  the  night  of  the  crisis." 

"Please!"  I  begged. 

"No !  You  must  wait  here.  I  will  send  you  word." 
Then  she  left  me. 

Hour  after  hour  I  waited  at  the  hospice,  knowing 
that  Seraphine  would  keep  her  promise  and  send  me 
some  message.  At  about  nine  o'clock  a  little  boy  came 


THE  MIRACLE  205 

with  a  note  saying  that  I  must  come  at  once.     Chris 
topher  was  worse. 

As  we  hurried  through  the  square,  the  whole  place 
was  ablaze  with  lights,  the  church  itself  outlined  fan 
tastically  in  electric  fires,  while  great  crowds  of  chant 
ing  pilgrims  moved  in  slow  procession,  each  man  or 
woman  carrying  a  torch  or  lantern  or  shaded  candle 
and  all  lifting  their  voices  in  that  everlasting  cry  of 
faith  and  woship : 

Ave,  Ave,  Ave,  Maria! 
Ave,  Aye,  Ave,  Maria! 

Until  the  day  of  my  death  I  shall  hear  that  thun 
derous  chorus  sounding  in  my  ears  whenever  memory 
turns  back  my  thoughts  to  this  fateful  night. 

Seraphine  met  me  at  the  door  of  the  chamber  where 
Christopher  lay,  feverish  and  delirious.  A  French  doc 
tor,  with  pointed  beard,  watched  by  the  patient  gravely, 
while  a  sad-eyed  nurse  held  his  poor  feet  huddled  in 
her  arms  in  an  effort  to  give  them  warmth.  Already 
the  life  forces  were  departing  from  my  beloved. 

The  doctor  motioned  me  silently  to  a  chair,  but  I 
came  forward  and  sat  on  the  bed,  and  bending  over 
my  dear  one,  I  called  to  him  fondly: 

"Chris!  It's  Penelope!  Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear! 
Don't  you  know  me?"  I  pleaded. 

But  there  was  no  answer,  no  recognition. 

An  hour  passed,  two  hours  and  still  there  was  no 
indication  that  my  dear  Christopher  realized  that  I 
was  near  him,  bending  over  him,  praying  for  him.  He 
turned  uneasily  in  his  fever  and  now  and  then  cried 


206  POSSESSED 

'out  with  a  great  effort  in  his  delirium;  but  he  never 
Spoke  my  name  or  made  any  reference  to  his  love  for 
i-ne.  It  was  heartbreaking  to  be  there  beside  him  and 
yet  to  feel  myself  so  far  away  from  him. 

At  about  eleven  the  doctor  saw  that  a  change  was 
coming  and  warned  me  that  there  would  be  a  lucid 
interval  which  would  precede  the  final  crisis. 

"Within  an  hour  we  shall  know  what  to  expect,"  he 
said.  "Either  your  friend  will  begin  to  improve — his 
heart  action  will  be  stronger,  his  breathing  easier,  or — 

he  will  sink  into  a  state  of  coma  and "  the  doctor 

finished  his  sentence  with  an  ominous  gesture.  "You 
must  have  courage,  dear  lady.  The  balance  of  his  life 
may  be  turned  by  you — either  way.  It  will  be  a  shock 
for  him  to  see  you  here,  a  great  shock.  I  cannot  tell 
how  that  shock  may  affect  him.  It  may  save  him,  it 
may  destroy  him.  No  man  of  science  in  my  place  would 
take  the  responsibility  of  saying  to  you  that  you  must 
or  must  not  show  yourself  to  this  man  at  this  moment. 
You  must  take  the  responsibility  for  yourself — and  for 
him." 

"I  understand,  doctor,"  I  said.  "I  will  take  the  re 
sponsibility." 

Again  we  waited  in  anguished  silence,  and  soon  the 
change  came  just  as  the  doctor  said  it  would.  Chris 
topher's  eyes  opened  naturally  and  I  saw  that  the  glassy 
stare  had  gone  out  of  them.  He  knew  where  he  was, 
he  knew  what  he  was  saying,  he  would  recognize  me, 
if  he  saw  me;  but  I  drew  back  into  the  shadows  of  the 
room  where  I  could  watch  him  without  being  seen.  I 
wanted  to  think  what  I  must  do. 


THE  MIRACLE  207 

Christopher  beckoned  Seraphine  and  the  doctor  to 
come  close  to  him. 

"I  want  you  to  write  something  for  me,"  he  said  in 
weak  tones  but  quite  distinctly  to  Seraphine.  "I  may  not 
come  out  of  this.  I — I  don't  care  very  much  whether 
I  do  or  not,  but — get  some  paper — please — and  a  pen 
cil.  The  most  important  thing  is  about  my  money — 
all  that  I  have — everything  in  the  world,  understand? 
I — I  leave  it  all  to  the  only  woman  I  have  ever  loved — 
or  ever  could  love — Penelope  Wells." 

When  he  had  said  this  he  settled  back  on  the  pillow 
and  breathed  heavily  but  with  a  certain  sense  of  relief, 
as  if  his  mind  was  now  at  rest.  I  bit  my  lip  until  my 
teeth  cut  into  it  to  keep  myself  from  crying  out. 

"You  are  both  witnesses  to  this — to  what  I  have 
said — you've  written  it  down?"  he  looked  at  Seraphine 
and  the  doctor  who  nodded  gravely. 

"You  must  find  Penelope  and  tell  her  that — that  she 
made  a  mistake  to  go  away.  I  understand  why  she  did 
it,  but  it  was  a  mistake.  Tell  her  I  said  that  we  all  of 
us  have  a  whole  lot  to  be  sorry  for  and  we  must  not 
only  ask  to  be  forgiven,  but  we  must  be  glad  to  accept 
the  forgiveness  of  others  for — for  whatever  we  have 
done  that  is  wrong,  and  we  must  believe  that  they  are 
sincere  in  forgiving  us.  Tell  her  that  I  would  have 
been  glad  to — to  forgive  her  for — for  everything." 

His  strength  was  evidently  failing  and  the  doctor 
told  him  that  he  had  better  not  try  to  talk  any  more. 
But  Christopher  smiled  in  that  quaint  brave  way  that 
I  knew  so  well  and  lifted  his  thin  white  hands  in  pro 
test. 


208  POSSESSED 

"Just  one  thing  more — please.  It  won't  make  any 
particular  difference,  doc,  and  I  want  to  say  it.  I  want 
you  to  be  sure  to  tell  her  this — write  it  down.  Tell  her 
two  things.  One  is  that  there  isn't  any  argument  about 
my  loving  her  because  I  am  dying  for  her — now — 
that's  a  fact.  There  isn't  anything  else  I  want  to  live 
for  if  I  can't  have  Penelope.  The  other  thing  is 

that "  He  paused  as  a  violent  spasm  of  coughing 

shook  his  wasted  body,  and  again  the  doctor  told  him 
to  be  quiet,  but  he  gave  no  heed. 

"The  other  thing  is — be  sure  to  tell  her  this — that  I 
would  sooner  have  lived  with  Penelope — I  don't  care 
how  many  devils  she  was  possessed  with — than  with 

all  the  saints  in  the  calendar.  I  loved  her "  He 

struggled  to  raise  himself  and  then  lifting  his  voice  in 
a  supreme  effort,  "I  loved  her  good  or  bad.  I — I 
couldn't  help  loving  her.  There — that's  all.  Let  me 
sign  it." 

This  was  too  much  for  me.  As  I  saw  my  dear  love 
tracing  his  name  with  painful  strokes,  I  could  control 
myself  no  longer  and  rushed  out  of  the  darkness  to  him, 
feeling  that  I  must  cry  out  wildly  against  his  leaving 
me.  I  must  fight  the  grim  shadows  that  were  envelop 
ing  him.  I  must  keep  him  for  myself  by  the  fierce 
power  of  my  love. 

Just  then  a  great  glare  from  the  torches  filled  the 
chamber  and  Christopher's  eyes  met  mine.  I  stood 
speechless,  choked  with  emotion,  and  as  I  tried  to  force 
my  will  against  these  obstacles  of  weakness,  the  cry  of 
the  pilgrims  resounded  from  the  streets  below,  a  vast 
soul-stirring  cry: 


THE  MIRACLE  209 

"Hosanna!  hosanna  au  fits  de  David!" 

At  this  I  fell  on  my  knees  by  the  bedside  and  buried 
my  face  in  my  hands.  I  realized  suddenly  that  it  was 
not  for  me  to  dispute  God's  will  even  for  this  life  that 
was  so  dear  to  me,  even  for  our  great  love.  Once  more 
I  must  fight  my  selfish  pride  and  yield  everything  into 
God's  keeping  for  better  or  for  worse.  But  with  all 
my  soul  I  prayed,  not  daring  to  look  up :  "Dear  God, 
save  him!  Give  him  back  to  me." 

Then  I  felt  Christopher's  hand  on  my  head,  resting 
there  lovingly. 

"Penelope'!"  he  Mid. 

"Chris!" 

Down  in  the  street  the  lines  of  fire  swept  past  in  a 
molten  sea  while  the  roar  of  worshipping  voices  came 
up  to  me : 

"Hosanna,  hosanna  au  fits  de  David!" 

And  still  I  prayed,  with  my  head  buried  in  my  arms : 
"Save  him !  Dear  God,  save  him  and  give  him  back  to 
me!" 

And  God  fad. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN  THAT  NOBODY  TELLS 

(Extracts  from  Penelope's  Diary) 

Two  Years  Later. 

A  WOMAN  who  ha*  been  saved,  as  I  have  been,  from 
a  fate  worse  than  der.th  must  be  grateful,  and  ready  to 
show  her  gratitude  by  helping  others,  especially  other 
women.  I  have  a  message  of  hope  for  those  who  have 
heard  the  Voices,  for  those  who  have  gone  down  into 
the  Black  Valley,  where  I  was — they  can  come  back  into 
the  sunshine  of  happiness.  The  powers  of  Light  are 
stronger  than  the  powers  of  Darkness,  and  Love  con 
quers  Fear  always  in  those  who  cleanse  their  souls  of 
evil. 

And  I  have  a  warning  for  thousands  and  tens  of 
thousands  of  women  who  have  not  yet  glimpsed  the 
Gates  of  Despair,  but  are  drifting  towards  them  and 
will  surely  pass  through  them,  as  I  did,  unless  they 
understand  the  perils  that  surround  and  beset  their 
lives. 

With  my  husband's  assistance  and  approval,  I  have 
selected  from  my  diary  parts  that  bear  on  the  emo 
tional  problems  of  women  today.  Christopher  says  I 
have  told  the  truth  about  women  that  nobody  tells, 
and  he  wants  me  to  make  it  known,  so  that  others,  being 

2IO 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        211 

enlightened,  may  avoid  the  mistakes  I  made  and  be 
spared  the  consequences  of  these  mistakes.  Dear 
Chris!  His  judgment  encourages  me,  and  yet 

How  fully  shall  I  speak,  so  that  my  words  may 
do  good,  not  harm? 

I  can  only  have  faith  in  my  honesty  of  purpose,  and 
hold  to  my  belief  that,  in  spite  of  my  limitations,  I  have 
a  message  to  deliver  that  will  be  helpful.  Yes,  I  must 
deliver  this  message.  God  will  not  allow  so  sincere  a 
motive  to  fail.  Perhaps  the  reason  for  all  my  suffer 
ings  and  mistakes,  the  reason  for  my  existence  was  that 
I  should  deliver  this  message. 

ARE  CERTAIN  WOMEN  PREDESTINED  TO  UNHAPPINESS 
THROUGH  THE  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  STARS? 

Soon  after  my  deliverance  from  evil,  Seraphine  cast 
my  horoscope  (I  wonder  why  she  never  did  this  be 
fore?),  and  now  much  that  was  previously  inexplicable 
in  my  life  is  made  clear  to  me.  She  says  that  astrology 
is  not  a  cheap  form  of  trickery,  but  a  recognized  field 
of  knowledge  and  investigation. 

From  the  earliest  times  wise  men  have  emphasized 
the  influence  of  the  stars  upon  human  lives — for  good 
or  ill.  I  like  to  believe  this.  It  gives  one  a  broader 
and  more  charitable  view  of  one's  fellow  creatures, 
of  their  sins  and  weaknesses,  to  realize  the  presence 
about  us  of  these  vast  and  mysterious  forces. 

My  horoscope,  with  its  queer  phraseology,  reads: 

"Your  Neptune  is  in  evil  aspect  to  your  Venus, 
which  makes  you  attract  men  almost  irresistibly." 


212  POSSESSED 

This  was  the  case,  Seraphine  says,  with  Georges 
Sand,  George  Eliot  and  various  women  in  history  who 
were  the  favorites  of  kings,  although  some  of  them 
had  little  beauty.  They  were  dowered,  however,  with 
this  terrific  magnetism  for  the  opposite  sex. 

I  remember,  even  as  a  school  girl,  how  the  boys 
used  to  fight  over  me,  while  they  scarcely  noticed  pret 
tier  and  brighter  girls.  I  never  understood  this,  any 
more  than  they  did,  for  I  was  rather  indifferent  to 
them.  There  was  one  girl  in  our  set  who  attracted 
the  boys  as  much  as  I  did,  but  she  was  also  drawn  to 
them.  When  this  girl  was  about  eighteen  her  father 
began  to  receive  anonymous  notes  telling  of  his  daugh 
ter's  escapades  and  warning  him  to  guard  her  more 
carefully.  Finally  there  came  an  open  scandal  when 
the  girl  ran  away  with  a  married  man.  At  the  time 
I  thought  myself  a  better  and  stronger  character  than 
she,  since  I  resisted  temptation,  but  my  horoscope 
shows  that  I  had  "in  beneficent  aspect"  certain  planets 
that  were  "evilly  aspected"  for  my  friend,  and  this 
made  her  temptations  greater  than  mine. 

Seraphine  says  that  the  horoscope,  wisely  used,  is 
like  an  automobile  light  in  the  darkness — it  reveals 
dangers  in  the  road  that  may  be  avoided.  " The  stars 
incline,  but  do  not  compel,"  she  always  tells  her  clients 
and  assures  them  that,  by  power  of  the  will,  we  can 
overcome  any  influence  of  the  stars,  strengthening  the 
good  and  weakening  the  evil  aspects.  That  is  a  blessed 
thought. 

When  I  was  a  trained  nurse  I  received  many  con- 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        213; 

fidences  from  women  and  some  confessions  of  an  inti 
mate  nature.  At  one  time  I  took  care  of  a  married 
woman  in  Washington,  a  neurasthenic  case,  and  this 
woman  told  me  that  she  had  several  times  tried  to  kill 
herself  because  of  a  curse  that  seemed  to  be  hanging 
over  her.  Twice,  following  an  irresistible  impulse,  she 
had  left  her  husband  with  another  man  for  whom  she 
had  no  particular  affection.  It  was  a  kind  of  recur 
rent  madness  which  she  did  not  understand  except  that 
she  was  positive  that  it  had  something  to  do  with  the 
phases  of  the  moon.  During  about  ten  days  of  the 
month  when  the  moon  was  "dark,"  she  was  perfectly 
normal,  but  when  a  new  moon  appeared  she  was  con 
scious  of  a  vague  uneasiness  that  increased  and  finally 
became  acute  when  the  moon  was  full,  this  being  her 
time  of  peril. 

Venus  in  conjunction  with  Mars,  Seraphine  says, 
brings  love  at  first  sight,  but  in  evil  aspect  to  Mars  it 
makes  one  liable  to  sex-excesses. 

She  says  that  a  good  Neptune  in  the  5th  house,  the 
house  of  Romance,  or  in  the  yth  house,  the  house  of 
Marriage,  brings  an  ideal  and  spiritual  attachment; 
but  in  evil  aspect  in  either  of  these  houses  it  brings  an 
immoral  relationship  or  a  marriage  to  one  who  is 
morally  or  physically  deformed.  This  was  the  con 
dition  in  my  own  horoscope  and  certainly  poor  Julian 
was  deformed  morally. 

What  a  strange  and  fascinating  light  all  this  throws 
upon  human  behavior!  How  it  clears  up  mysterious 
infatuations  and  explains  incredible  follies !  Seraphine 


214  POSSESSED 

knows  a  woman  of  fifty — she  is  a  grandmother  and  a 
most  estimable  person — who  has  always  had  and  still 
has  this  power  of  attracting  men  violently  to  her.  On 
O:ie  occasion  this  woman  was  in  a  railway  station  in  New 
York,  waiting  for  her  son,  when  a  fine  looking  man  ap 
proached  her  and,  lifting  his  hat,  asked  if  she  could 
direct  him  to  the  train  that  would  soon  leave  for  Chi 
cago.  She  told  him  in  her  well-bred  way,  and  he  left 
her;  but  a  few  minutes  later  he  returned  and  said  with 
intense  feeling  that  he  had  never  believed  in  love  at 
first  sight,  but  now  he  did.  He  was  compelled  to  be 
lieve  in  it  now. 

When  she  drew  back  he  told  her  that  he  was  a 
widower,  a  man  of  means,  living  in  the  West,  that  he 
could  give  her  the  best  references  and — the  point  was 
that  his  infatuation  for  her  was  so  great  that  he  begged 
her  to  consider  whether  she  would  be  willing  to  marry 
him.  He  would  do  everything  in  his  power  to  make 
her  happy,  but  declared  that  he  could  not  and  would 
not  try  to  live  without  her  another  day. 

Knowing  her  horoscope  the  woman  did  not  get  angry 
at  this  presumption,  but  gently  declined  the  offer,  and 
begged  the  man  to  leave  her.  He  bowed  and  with 
drew,  but  came  back  once  again  after  she  had  joined 
her  son  and  explained  to  the  astonished  young  man 
his  hopes  and  aspirations  toward  the  mother.  Where 
upon,  as  the  woman  still  refused,  he  finally  left,  to  all 
appearances  broken-hearted. 

I  have  had  one  experience  of  this  sort  myself  that 
shows  how  even  the  noblest  man  may  suddenly  suffer 
an  infatuation  capable  of  sweeping  him  on  to  disaster,. 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        2151 

It  was  at  the  time  of  my  husband's  death — during 
days  when  he  lay  half  conscious  in  the  hospital  follow 
ing  his  automobile  accident.  A  distinguished  clergy 
man,  Dr.  B ,  who  had  known  Julian  slightly, 

visited  him  here  and  in  this  way  made  my  acquaint 
ance.  And  he  fell  violently  in  love  with  me. 

For  months  during  my  early  widowhood  he  saw  me 
almost  every  day  and  wrote  me  impassioned  letters, 
declaring  that  I  was  the  only  woman  in  the  world  for 
him,  I  was  his  true  mate,  he  could  not  live  without 
me,  he  was  ready  to  give  up  everything  for  me,  to  go 
away  with  me  to  some  distant  city — any  city — and 
begin  life  all  over  again. 

This  clergyman  was  a  man  of  fifty, .  a  brilliant 
preacher,  widely  honored  and  loved,  who  had  never 
in  his  life,  he  assured  me,  committed  any  deliberately 
sinful  act  such  as  this  would  be,  for  he  was  married  to 
a  fine  woman  who  had  been  his  faithful  companion  for 
many  years  and  had  borne  him  two  children — two 
boys.  All  this  he  was  ready  to  renounce  for  me — 
reputation,  honor,  duty.  He  said  it  was  fate.  His 
desire  for  me  was  too  strong  to  be  resisted.  The  sin, 
the  disgrace,  the  pain  that  he  would  cause — none  of 
these  could  keep  back  this  man  of  God  from  his  evil 
purpose. 

ARE    WOMEN    DISLOYAL   TO    OTHER    WOMEN? 

In  many  pages  of  my  diary  (written  sincerely  at  the 
time)  I  present  the  conventional  view  of  sex  offences, 
the  comforting  view  to  women. 


216  POSSESSED 

But 

When  I  search  deep  into  my  soul  with  an  honest 
desire  to  find  the  truth,  I  am.  not  sure  that  women  are 
as  blameless  in  the  sex  struggle  with  men  as  I  would 
like  to  believe.  Very  often  they  are  less  pursued 
than  pursuing.  Every  man  of  the  world  can  re 
call  the  cases  where  women  have  played  the  role  of 
temptress,  using  their  charms  against  unwilling  victims, 
notably  husbands  of  other  women.  /  am  afraid  the 
rule  is  that  women  are  disloyal  to  other  women  where 
there  is  any  serious  emotional  conflict. 

The  editor  of  a  popular  magazine  told  me  once 
about  a  prize  contest  that  they  had  for  the  best  essay 
on  a  woman's  sex  solidarity  union — they  called  it  the 
W.  S.  S.  U.  The  idea  was  that  if  women  would  stand 
together  against  men  they  could  get  anything  in  the 
world  they  wanted — equal  rights  and  privileges,  equal 
wages,  fair  treatment  in  every  department  of  life;  and 
do  away  with  evils  of  ignorance  and  poverty,  child 
labor  evils,  prostitution  evils.  We  could  have  an  ideal 
world  if  women,  using  their  sex  power,  would  only 
stand  together  against  men. 

Hundreds  of  letters  were  received  from  women, 
who  thought  this  a  wonderful  idea ;  but  they  all  agreed 
that  it  was  impossible  to  carry  it  out,  because  women 
would  never  be  loyal  to  one  another. 

That  is  true;  I  know  it,  and  every  woman  knows  it 
— women  are  disloyal  to  other  women  whenever  it 
becomes  a  question  of  men.  They  might  agree  on  a 
W.  S.  S.  U.  program,  but  they  would  never  stick  to  it, 
poor  things,  because  every  blessed  one  of  them  who 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        217 

was  at  all  good  looking  would  be  ready  to  go  over  to 
the  opposition  at  the  first  favorable  opportunity.  Only 
the  homely  women  would  be  loyal! 

if' 

ARE   WOMEN   GREATER    HYPOCRITES   THAN   MEN? 

In  all  my  troubles  I  kept  at  least  to  the  form  of  re 
ligious  belief,  although  I  missed  the  substance,  namely, 
that  any  life  can  be  made  happy,  even  glorious,  if  it  is 
founded  on  purity  of  soul  and  unselfish  love  and  serv 
ice.  I  was  selfish — even  in  my  love ;  therefore  I  brought 
upon  myself  the  fruits  of  selfishness  which  are  ill  health, 
inefficiency  and  unhappiness.  The  beauty  of  a  selfish 
woman  fades  quickly. 

Once  I  wrote  this  in  my  diary : 

"Alas,  how  soon  love  passes!  Ten  or  fifteen  years 
and  the  best  of  it  is  gone.  After  that  the  dregs !  A 
woman  of  thirty!  Ugh!  I  shall  be  thirty  next  year. 
A  woman  of  forty!  No  wrinkles  at  forty,  says  the 
beauty  advertisement,  but  that  is  a  lie.  A  woman  of 
forty  is  a  pitiful,  tragic  figure,  especially  if  she  is  a 
little  beautiful.  No  man  wants  her  any  more." 

I  was  mistaken.  The  beauty  of  unselfish  love  never 
passes.  There  are  sisters  of  charity  whose  faces  are 
exquisitely  beautiful  at  fifty.  Seraphine  is  forty-five 
and  her  face  shines  with  heavenly  radiance.  Her  skin 
is  as  smooth  as  a  girl's  and  free  from  lines  because  she 
thinks  good  thoughts  and  does  kind  acts.  The  great 
est  beauty  tonic  in  the  world  is  the  habit  of  kindness. 

In  one  place  I  find  this: 

"Women  are  naturally  religious,  especially  women 


2i  8  POSSESSED 

with  a  strong  sex  nature ;  they  believe  in  God,  in  spirit 
ual  mysteries ;  they  are  deeply  stirred  by  religious  music 
and  by  the  ritual  of  worship;  they  love  the  architec 
tural  impressiveness  of  a  church,  the  stained  glass  win 
dows  far  up  among  majestic  arches,  the  candles,  the 
incense,  the  far-away  chanting. 

"I  was  brought  up  an  Episcopalian,  but  when  I  am 
tired  or  discouraged  I  often  go  into  St.  Patrick's 
Cathedral — it  is  so  beautiful — and  say  my  prayers 
there.  At  any  hour  I  find  others  praying,  men  and 
women — they  come  in  off  Fifth  Avenue  quite  naturally 
and  cross  themselves  and  bow  to  the  Altar  and  kneel 
straight  up — they  don't  just  lean  forward  the  way 
we  do.  I  love  to  imitate  them — cross  myself  and  go 
down  on  one  knee  and  dip  my  fingers  in  the  font  of 
Holy  Water  as  I  come  away.  Sometimes  I  wish  I  was 
a  Catholic  and  could  confess  my  sins.  It  might  help 
me. 

"I  do  not  think  religion  keeps  women  back  very 
much  from  doing  what  they  want  to  do  or  have  re- 
solved  to  do  in  love  affairs.  It  is  a  comfort,  an  emo 
tional  satisfaction  rather  than  a  restraint.  They  come 
tripping  in  on  their  high  heels  with  all  their  smiles  and 
finery,  and  they  trip  out  again,  unchanged  in  their  sen 
timental  natures.  A  woman  will  go  to  church  in  the 
afternoon  and  flirt  with  another  woman's  husband  in 
the  evening.  She  will  respond  devoutly  after  the  Com 
mandments  'Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,  and  incline  our 
hearts  to  keep  this  law,'  even  though  she  knows  that 
her  heart  is  inclined  to  break  one  of  these  laws." 

This  is  true  in  the  main,  although  I  believe  now  that 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        219 

women,  because  they  are  highly  emotional,  are  sincere 
for  the  moment  when  they  kneel  down  to  say  their 
prayers  and  confess  their  sins,  even  if  they  half  know 
that  they  may  continue  in  wrong-doing.  I  suppose 
women  are  less  logical  here  than  men  who  will  often 
stay  away  from  church  entirely  when  they  are  break 
ing  the  moral  law  and  when  they  know  that  they  in 
tend  to  go  on  breaking  it.  I  am  sure  it  is  better,  how 
ever,  for  men  and  women  to  go  to  church,  even  at  the 
risk  of  a  little  hypocrisy,  than  not  to  go  at  all. 

ARE  WOMEN  DISINGENUOUS  IN  SENTIMENTAL  AFFAIRS? 

I  suppose  we  must  admit  that  there  are  many 
women,  in  all  classes  of  society — not  mercenary  women 
— who  extend  to  men  a  certain  measure  of  sex  com 
plaisance  and  feel  no  deep  regret  for  this  behavior,  so 
long  as  things  go  well. 

Once  I  wrote  in  my  diary: 

"Of  course  women  will  not  admit  sex  indiscretions 
— wild  horses  could  not  drag  the  truth  out  of  them. 
The  attractive  ones,  those  who  have  had  emotional 
experiences  with  men,  will  hide  them,  following  the 
feminine  free  masonry  of  centuries.  And  unattractive 
women  will  call  high  heaven  to  witness  that  nothing 
of  that  sort  has  ever  happened  to  them.  They  have 
always  found  men  respectful  and  considerate." 

I  asked  Julian  about  this  one  day  when  he  was  in  a 
penitential  mood  and  he  said: 

"Of  course  you  are  right,  the  indiscretions  of  women 
are  numerous,  inevitable;  but  it  is  the  fault  of  men. 


220  POSSESSED 

The  evidence  is  all  about  us.  Any  woman  may  ascer 
tain  this  from  her  husband,  her  father,  her  grand 
father,  or  her  great-grandfather,  if  she  can  persuade 
one  of  these  gentlemen  to  be  honest  with  her." 

The  ghastly  truth  is — this  is  the  truth  that  has  filled 
the  world  with  tears — that  the  average  full-blooded 
male  citizen  is  polygamous  in  his  instinct  and  to  some 
extent  in  his  practice. 

Every  reasonably  attractive  woman  who  has  been 
called  upon  to  face  the  facts  of  life  knows  that  men 
are  impelled  towards  women  by  a  force  of  desire  that 
they  call  over-powering.  It  is  not  over-powering,  as 
thousands  of  clean-minded  men  have  proved,  it  is  no 
more  over-powering  than  the  desire  to  gamble  or  the 
desire  to  take  drugs;  it  can  be  conquered  as  these  other 
desires  have  been  conquered;  but  centuries  of  wayward 
living  under  relaxed  standards  (the  double  standard) 
have  made  men  believe  that  it  is  over-powering  and 
they  act  accordingly.  And  women  yield  on  one  pre 
tense  or  another,  smilingly  or  tearfully — how  can  they 
resist  the  dominant  will  of  half  the  human  race? 

I  find  this  in  my  diary  heavily  underscored: 

"How  can  the  same  act  be  a  sin  for  half  the  race 
and  not  a  sin  for  the  other  half?  For  centuries  men 
have  proclaimed  that  women  must  not  give  themselves 
to  men,  but  men  may  give  themselves  to  women.  Is 
there  any  greater  absurdity?  Wine  may  mix  with 
water,  but  water  must  not  mix  with  wine." 

If  these  sex-complaisant  women  were  really  filled 
with  remorse,  burdened  with  a  sense  of  shame,  we 
should  all  know  it.  Their  eyes,  their  voices,  their  daily 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        221 

lives  would  reveal  it.  Could  a  million  women  be  in 
physical  pain,  say  from  starvation,  without  all  the 
world  knowing  it?  Is  pain  of  the  soul  less  torturing 
than  pain  of  the  body?  The  fact  is  that  these  women 
are  not  in  spiritual  pain.  They  regard  what  they  have 
done  (often  regretfully)  as  a  result  of  impossible  con 
ditions  in  the  world  today,  a  world  controlled  by  men. 
I  can  speak  about  these  things  with  a  certain  author 
ity,  since,  for  years,  I  sympathized  with  the  self-indul 
gent  point  of  view,  in  fact  I  lived  in  an  artistic  and 
Bohemian  milieu  where  many  of  my  friends  followed 
the  line  of  least  resistance.  I  may  even  confess  that 
I  might  have  gone  with  the  current,  had  I  not  seen  the 
harm  and  unhappiness  that  resulted.  It  does  not  pay 
to  be  self-indulgent. 

"LEAD  us  NOT  INTO  TEMPTATION" 

The  suspicion  that  many  women  are  disingenuous 
in  regard  to  these  irregularities  of  conduct  was  forced 
upon  me  some  years  ago  in  a  conversation  with  Ken 
dall  Brown,  who,  for  all  his  eccentricities,  is  a  keen 
observer  of  life. 

I  give  the  conversation  at  some  length  just  -as  I 
wrote  it  down  in  my  diary: 

"Kendall  insists  that  women  like  me — he  calls  me  a 
Class  A  woman  which  makes  me  furious  for  I'm  afraid 
I  am  one — are  never  really  on  the  level  in  sentimental 
affairs.  If  we  were  on  the  level,  he  says,  we  would 
not  make  such  a  fuss  about  the  grand  conspiracy  of 
men  against  our  virtue.  There  would  be  no  point  to 


222  POSSESSED 

it,  for  our  virtue  would  never  be  in  any  danger  unless 
we  half-wished  it  to  be.  He  says  that  the  three  great 
sins  mentioned  in  the  Bible  and  in  all  religions  are 
killing,  stealing  and  sex  offences.  Now,  the  attitude 
of  the  human  race  toward  these  sins,  as  established  by 
centuries  of  habit,  makes  it  almost  impossible  for  the 
average  citizen,  man  or  woman,  to  either  kill  or  steal. 
'Isn't  that  true?'  he  asked. 

"I  agreed  that  the  thought  of  stealing  is  so  abhorrent 
to  me  that  I  could  not  imagine  any  temptation  strong 
enough  to  make  me  a  thief.  I  might  have  some  re 
serves  about  killing,  however,  in  fact  I  have  once  or 
twice  felt  a  sympathy  for  .  .  .  well,  no ! 

'  'All  right,'  he  went  on.  'Now,  if  women  were  on 
the  level  in  guarding  their  virtue  and  always  had  been, 
just  as  they  are  on  the  level  in  regard  to  stealing,  don't 
you  see  that  it  would  be  utterly  impossible  for  any 
man  under  any  circumstances  (barring  violence  which 
does  not  happen  once  in  ten  thousand  times)  to  have 
his  way  with  a  woman?  This  habit  of  virtue  would  be 
so  deeply  ground  into  you  women,  into  the  very  depth 
of  your  being,  that  nothing  could  overcome  it.  But  as 
we  look  about  us  and  observe  women  in  all  classes  of 
society,  we  see  that  there  is  no  such  condition,  no  such 
habit,  which  proves  that  women  are  not  and  never 
have  been  on  the  level.  What  do  you  say  to  that, 
speaking  as  a  pretty  woman?' 

"I  did  not  say  anything,  I  was  so  indignant — speech 
less — at  his  impertinence,  and  while  I  was  searching 
for  some  answer  to  this  outrageous  statement,  my  poet 
friend  proceeded: 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        223 

"  'You  know  how  strong  habits  are,  Penelope,  all 
habits.  Take  smoking,  or  drinking  cocktails,  or  even 
coffee.  I  swore  off  coffee  six  weeks  ago.  During  the 
first  week  I  was  nearly  crazy  for  it — had  headaches, 
felt  rotten,  but  I  stuck  it  out.  In  the  second  week  it 
was  much  easier  for  me  not  to  take  coffee.  At  the 
end  of  a  month  the  habit  was  established  and  now  I 
have  no  more  craving  for  coffee.  If  I  leave  it  alone 
for  six  months  the  chances  are  that  nothing  will  ever 
make  me  drink  coffee  again,  especially  if  I  hypnotize 
myself  with  the  idea  that  coffee  is  bad  for  my  heart 
action,  that  I'm  a  nice  little  hero  to  have  cut  it  out  and 
that  now  I  am  going  to  live  to  be  over  ninety.  You 
see? 

"  'Now  then,  the  drift  of  all  this  is  that  the  habit  of 
virtue  in  women  if  it  really  was  an  on-the-level  habit 
that  they  believed  in  with  all  their  souls  and  would 
fight  for  with  all  their  strength,  would  be  utterly  and 
absolutely  unbreakable — no  man  could  overcome  it. 
The  only  reason  why  men  in  all  times  and  in  all  lands 
have  overcome  women's  virtue  is  because  women  them 
selves  have  never  attached  the  importance  to  it  that 
they  pretend  to  attach.  That  isn't  a  very  gallant 
speech,  but  it  is  true.'  ' 

As  I  said,  I  became  angry  at  Kendall's  accusations 
and  refused  to  continue  the  discussion,  but  if  I  were  to 
answer  the  poet  now,  after  my  wider  experience  of 
life,  especially  after  my  sufferings,  I  should  feel  obliged 
to  acknowledge  that  he  struck  a  hard  blow  at  feminine 
complacency.  The  trouble  with  women  is  that  there 
is  an  increasing  tendency  among  them,  especially  among 


224  POSSESSED 

those  who  live  in  cities  full  of  pleasures  and  excite 
ments,  to  compromise  with  evil,  to  go  as  near  the  dan 
ger  line  as  possible,  so  long  as  they  do  not  cross  it. 
And  this  cowardly,  dallying  virtue  is  almost  no  virtue 
at  all.  There  was  a  time  when  women  prayed  sin 
cerely:  "Lead  us  not  into  temptation";  now  it  seems 
as  if  they  pray  to  be  led  into  temptation,  with  just  this 
reservation:  that  they  may  come  out  of  it  unscathed. 
Demi-merges  I 

I  have  watched  many  attractive  women  treading  the 
primrose  path  and  I  have  seen  that  it  always  leads  them 
to  unhappiness.  Not  that  they  are  disgraced  or 
openly  degraded — life  goes  on  with  many  of  them  very 
much  as  before,  but  gradually  their  faces  change, 
their  souls  change.  They  could  have  done  so  much 
better;  they  could  have  been  useful,  respected  and  self- 
respecting  figures  in  the  world  through  loving  service. 
After  all,  life  is  very  short  and  the  only  things  that 
really  matter  are  the  things  that  happen  in  our  own 
souls.  No  one  can  fml  in  life  who  does  not  fail  in 
side,  and  no  one  can  succeed  in  life  who  only  succeeds 
outside.  I  learned  that  from  Dr.  Leroy. 


IS  PLATONIC  FRIENDSHIP  POSSIBLE  TO  AN  ATTRACTIVE 

WOMAN  ? 

In  telling  the  truth  about  my  life  and  my  innermost 
feelings  I  must  quote  passages  from  my  diary  that  were 
written  in  a  light  and  often  flippant  spirit,  that  being 
my  mood  at  the  time;  but  the  lesson  is  there  just  the 
same  and  in  many  instances  tears  follow  close  behind 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        225 

the  laughter.  Furthermore,  I  thank  God  that  my  re 
generation  has  not  taken  away  my  sense  of  humor. 
One  of  the  great  troubles  with  neurasthenic  women  is 
that  they  do  not  laugh  enough. 

I  wrote  the  following  about  a  year  after  my  hus 
band's  death: 

"We  women  are  irrational  creatures.  Our  emotions 
control  us,  and  these  emotions  change  from  day  to  day, 
from  hour  to  hour.  We  never  know  how  we  will  act 
under  any  given  circumstances — that  may  depend  upon 
some  man." 

The  truth  is  that  the  attraction  which  draws  a  man 
and  a  woman  together  in  what  they  call  platonic  friend 
ship  always  has  something  of  the  physical  in  it — on 
one  side  or  the  other.  Or  on  both  sides.  Women  will 
not  admit  this,  but  it  is  true.  They  talk  about  the  in 
tellectual  bond  that  joins  them  to  a  man — what  a 
precious  interchange  of  thoughts!  Or  the  spiritual 
bond — such  a  soulful  and  inspiring  companionship — 
nothing  else,  my  dear !  I  used  to  talk  that  way  myself 
about  Jimsy  Brooks  before  my  husband  died.  He  was 
my  unchangeable  rock  of  defense  whenever  the  sub 
ject  of  platonic  friendship  came  up.  Other  men  might 
fail  and  falter,  make  fools  of  themselves,  seek  oppor 
tunities  for — nonsense,  but  Jimsy  was  Old  Reliability. 
I  could  tell  him  everything,  even  my  troubles  with 
Julian,  I  could  trust  him  entirely.  Alas ! 

One  day  I  received  this  warning  from  Seraphine: 
"My  beloved  Penelope,  you  are  riding  for  a  fall!  I 
have  had  you  in  mind  constantly  since  you  told  me  of 
your  new  friendship  with  Mr.  R .  I  know  you 


226  POSSESSED 

intend  to  be  truly  platonic  and  I  can  see  you  smiling  as 
you  recall  your  many  years'  friendship  with  Jim 
Brooks  to  prove  that  such  a  thing  is  possible.  But, 
my  dear,  take  warning  in  time.  While  it  has  ap 
parently  worked  out  in  that  case,  I  am  certain  it  is 
only  the  thought  of  losing  'even  that  that  he  has' 
which  has  prevented  Jimsy  from  telling  you  of  his  love 
long  ago.  Your  new  playmate  may  cause  you  many 
heartaches  before  the  game  is  played  out.  Think  it 
over." 

Dear  old  Seraphine !  How  well  she  knows  the  hu 
man  soull  A  month  later  I  wrote  this  in  my  diary: 

"Seraphine  was  right.  My  bubble  has  vanished  into 
thin  air.  Jimsy  Brooks  has  declared  his  love  for  me 
and  a  wonderful  thing  has  gone  out  of  my  life  for 
ever.  I  had  always  felt  so  perfectly  safe  with  Jimsy. 
When  I  think  of  the  all-day  picnics  that  we  two  used 
to  go  on  together  and  the  outrageous  things  I  have 
done,  I  blush  all  over. 

"I  remember  our  trip  to  Bear  Mountain  and  the 
sparkling  stream  that  beckoned  me  into  its  depths.  I 
wanted  to  wade  in  it,  to  sit  on  one  of  the  smooth  round 
stones  in  the  middle  and  in  general  to  behave  like  a 
child.  All  of  which  I  did,  for  there  was  only  Jimsy 
to  see  and  he  didn't  matter  in  the  least.  He  never  so 
much  as  glanced  at  my  bare  feet  and  legs  when  I 
splashed  through  the  ripples  with  my  dress  pinned  up! 

"I  remember  how  I  kissed  his  hand  where  a  fish 
barb  had  torn  it.  ...  'Kiss  it,  make  it  well,'  and  all 
the  while  I  must  have  been  hurting  him  cruelly.  God 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        227 

knows  I  did  not  mean  to,  I  would  not  have  hurt  him 
for  the  world. 

"This  sort  of  thing  is  all  very  well  from  a  woman's 
angle,  but  is  it  well  for  a  man?  Jimsy  says  no,  and 
when  I  remember  the  expression  in  his  eyes,  I  am 
afraid  I  must  agree  with  him.  I  had  thought  of  him 
more  as  I  would  think  of  a  girl  chum,  only  infinitely 
more  desirable,  for  he  had  the  power  of  really  doing 
things  for  me — he  was  a  cross  between  a  nice  old 
friendly  dog  that  would  fetch  and  carry  at  my  bid 
ding  and  a  powerful  protector  who  could  (and  did) 
stand  between  me  and  unpleasant  happenings. 

"Jimsy  has  gone  out  of  my  life  and  left  a  terrible 
loneliness.  He  says  that  some  day,  when  he  has 
learned  resignation,  he  will  come  back  and  we  can 
take  up  the  threads  of  our  friendship  just  where  we 
have  laid  them  down  .  .  .  but  that  can  never  be,  you 
cannot  build  up  a  new  friendship  on  the  ashes  of  an 
old  one.  Poor  Jim  Brooks  !  I  shall  never  forget  what 
a  wonderful  thing  he  was  in  my  life.  And  now  that  I 
have  learned  my  lesson,  my  new  platonic  friend  Mr. 
R can  take  his  professed  platonic  friendship  else 
where.  I  am  through,  henceforth  all  men  are  acquain 
tances  ...  or  lovers!" 

As  I  look  back  on  my  life  and  try  to  draw  wisdom 
from  my  mistakes,  I  see  some  things  clearly  and  one 
is  that  it  is  impossible  for  a  woman  like  me  to  enjoy 
the  close  friendship  of  an  attractive  man  without  dan 
ger.  No  matter  how  honorable  he  is  or  how  sincere 
the  woman  is,  there  will  be  danger.  The  only  case 


228  POSSESSED 

where  there  is  no  danger  is  where  there  is  no  physical 
attraction.  I  might  have  been  safe  enough  with  some 
anemic  saint,  but  not  with  one  who  had  pulsing  red 
blood  in  his  veins — certainly  not ! 

Here  is  a  characteristic  episode  written  before  I 
married  Julian,  during  those  months  of  hard  struggle 
in  New  York: 

"Last  night  Kendall  Brown  talked  to  me  like  an 
angel. 

'  Til  give  you  a  case  in  point,  Pen,'  he  was  saying. 
'A  beautiful  woman  like  you,  an  exquisite,  lithe  creature 
is  sitting  on  a  sofa  under  a  soft  light,  leaning  against 
pillows — just  as  you  are  now;  and  a  man  like  me,  a 
poor  adoring  devil,  a  regular  worm,  is  sitting  at  the 
other  end  of  the  sofa  looking  at  this  woman,  drinking 
in  her  loveliness,  thrilling  to  the  mysterious  lights  in 
her  eyes,  the  caressing  tenderness  of  her  voice  and  all 
the  rest  of  it.  This  man  wants  to  reach  out  and  take 
this  woman  in  his  arms — draw  her  to  him — press  his 
lips  to  hers.  But  he  doesn't  do  it,  because — well,  she 
wouldn't  stand  for  it.  Besides,  it  isn't  right.  Perhaps 
she  is  a  married  woman.  Perhaps  he  is  married. 

'  'Now  what  I  want  to  know  is  why  this  chap  can't 
behave  himself  and  regard  his  fair  friend  as  he  would 
an  exquisite  rose  in  a  garden — somebody  else's  gar 
den.  Why  can't  he  say  to  himself:  "This  woman  is 
one  of  God's  loveliest  creatures,  but  she  does  not  be 
long  to  me.  I  can  look  at  her,  I  can  rejoice  in  her 
beauty,  but  I  musn't  touch  her  or  try  to  harm  her." 
Why  can't  he  say  that  to  himself?  Isn't  it  a  wicked 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        229 

thing  for  a  man  to  crush  and  bruise  and  destroy  a 
lovely  flower,  to  scatter  its  color  and  perfume  just  for 
a  wayward  impulse?' 

"I  shall  never  forget  the  earnestness,  the  tender 
ness  in  the  eyes  and  voice  of  this  harum  scarum  poet 
whose  record  in  women  conquests  makes  a  rich  chapter 
in  the  annals  of  Greenwich  Village.  At  this  moment 
he  was  quite  sincere,  or  thought  he  was.  There  were 
tears  in  his  eyes. 

"And  what  did  I  do?  I  rose  from  my  pillows  and 
said,  with  a  little  laugh  and  toss  of  my  head:  'Very 
pretty,  Kendall,  you  ought  to  make  a  poem  of  it.' 
Then  I  went  over  to  the  victrola  and  set  it  going  in 
a  fox-trot,  one  of  my  favorites.  I  was  restless  and 
began  to  move  about  slowly  to  the  music  while  Kendall 
watched  me  with  a  different  light  growing  in  his  eyes. 
I  wore  a  clinging  white  house  garment — I  suppose  I 
was  at  my  best. 

'  'Let's  dance  it,  Pen,  just  gently  so  as  not  to  dis 
turb  the  folks  downstairs,'  he  said.  So  we  danced  the 
fox-trot  and  my  hair  brushed  against  his  cheek — he 
really  dances  very  well  for  a  poet. 

"After  he  had  gone  I  sat  thinking  of  this  for  a 
long  time,  puzzled  about  myself  and  about  Kendall. 
This  afternoon  I  saw  him  again  as  I  was  passing 
through  the  Brevoort  Cafe.  He  came  up  to  me,  smil 
ing,  and  drew  me  aside. 

"  'Don't  you  see  what  a  little  faker  you  are,  Pen?' 
he  laughed.  'It's  just  as  I  said,  you  are  none  of  you 
on  the  level,  you  pretty  women.  Why  did  you  set  that 
victrola  going  last  night  and  tempt  me  to — to — yes 


23o  POSSESSED 

you  did,  you  know  darn  well  you  did.  Why  did  you 
let  your  cheek  brush  against  mine?  Come,  be  honest, 
if  you  can.  You're  laughing,  you  adorable  little  devil 
— you  expected  me  to  kiss  you.' 

"  'Impertinent!'  I  said.  'You  do  yourself  too  much 
honor,  sir.' 

1  'I  say  you  expected  me  to  kiss  you.' 

"  'No.' 

"  'Liar  1'    He  wrinkled  up  his  nose  amusingly. 

"I  suppose  I  was  a  liar.  I  did  expect  Kendall  Brown 
to — well — not  to  kiss  me  necessarily,  but  to  make  it 
perfectly  clear  that  he  wanted  to.  It  was  a  ridiculous 
and  unnecessary  bit  of  posing  on  his  part  to  act  as  if 
he  did  not  want  to.  The  French  have  a  saying  that  a 
pretty  woman  always  expects  a  suitor  to  know  just 
when  to  be  lacking  in  respect." 

HOW  SHALL  A  WOMAN  SATISFY  HER  HEART'S  LONELI 
NESS? 

I  quote  from  my  diary  without  comment  another 
significant  conversation  that  took  place  during  the  early 
months  of  my  widowhood.  How  I  resented,  at  this 
time,  any  suggestion  that  I  was  inclined  to  venture 
too  near  the  sentimental  danger  line ! 

And  yet  .  .  . 

"Tonight  I  had  a  long  talk  with  Kendall  Brown  on 
the  same  old  subject — what  is  a  woman  to  do  who 
longs  for  the  companionship  of  a  man,  but  does  not 
find  it? 

"Kendall   always   says   disconcerting  things,    he    is 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        231 

brutally  frank;  but  I  like  to  argue  with  him  because 
I  find  him  stimulating,  and  he  does  know  a  lot  about 
life. 

"  'The  trouble  with  women  like  you,  Pen,'  he  said, 
'is  that  you  are  not  honest  with  yourselves.  You  pre 
tend  one  thing  and  end  by  doing  something  quite  dif 
ferent;  then  you  say  that  you  never  intended  to  do 
this  thing.  Why  can't  you  be  consistent?' 

"'Like  men?' 

"  'Well,  at  least  men  know  what  they  are  going 
after,  and  when  they  have  done  a  certain  thing,  they 
don't  waste  time  regretting  it  or  insisting  that  they 
meant  to  do  something  else.' 

"  'You  think  women  are  hypocrites?' 

"  'Yes.' 

"  'If  women  are  hypocrites,  if  women  are  afraid  to 
tell  the  truth  about  sentimental  things,  it  is  because  you 
men  have  made  them  so,'  I  replied  with  feeling. 

"Kendall  answered  good-naturedly  that  he  held  no 
brief  for  his  own  sex,  he  acknowledged  that  men  treat 
women  abominably — lie  to  them,  abandon  them,  and 
so  on;  but  he  kept  to  his  point  that  women  create  many 
of  their  troubles  by  drifting  back  and  forth  aimlessly 
on  the  changing  tide  of  their  emotions  instead  of 
establishing  some  definite  goal  for  their  lives. 

'Women  yield  to  every  sentimental  impulse — that 
is  why  they  weep  so  easily.  Watch  them  at  a  murder 
trial — they  weep  for  the  victim,  then  they  weep  for  the 
murderer.  Half  their  tears  are  useless.  If  women 
would  put  into  constructive  thinking  some  of  the  vital 


232  POSSESSED 

power  they  waste  in  weeping  and  talking  they  could 
revolutionize  the  world.' 

"  'Could  they  reform  the  men?'  I  retorted,  but  when 
he  tried  to  answer  I  stopped  him.  What  was  the  use? 
I  knew  what  he  would  say  about  this,  and  I  really 
wanted  to  get  his  ideas  on  the  other  point. 

"  'Come  back  to  the  question,'  I  said.  'Take  the 
case  of  a  well-bred  woman  surrounded  by  stifling,  con 
ventional  influences  of  family  and  friends,  who  sees 
lonely  years  slipping  by  while  nothing  comes  that  sat 
isfies  her  womanhood.  She  may  have  money  enough, 
comforts,  even  luxuries,  but  she  longs  for  the  com 
panionship  of  a  man.  What  is  she  to  do?' 

"He  answered  with  his  usual  positiveness : 

"  'She  must  take  the  initiative.  She  must  go  after 
what  she  supremely  wants,  just  as  a  man  would,  using 
her  power — I  assume  that  she  is  reasonably  attractive. 
She  must  break  through  restraints,  and  drive  ahead 
towards  the  particular  kind  of  emotional  happiness 
that  suits  her.  That  is  what  God  created  her  for,  to 
achieve  by  her  own  efforts  this  emotional  happiness. 
If  she  wants  it  enough  she  can  get  it.  We  can  all  of 
us  do  anything,  have  anything  on  condition  that  we 
want  it  enough  to  pay  the  price  for  it.  The  price  is 
usually  the  elimination  of  other  things  that  interfere.' 

"  'Suppose  a  woman  wants  a  husband?  Suppose  she 
is  forty — and  not  rich?  Do  you  mean  to  say  she  can 
get  a  husband?' 

"Here  my  poet,  blazing  with  conviction,  leaned  to 
wards  me,  pointing  an  emphatic  forefinger. 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        233 

"  'I  tell  you,  Penelope  Wells,  it  is  possible  for  any 
reasonably  attractive  woman  up  to  forty-five  to  get  a 
reasonably  satisfactory  husband  if  she  will  work  to  get 
him  as  a  man  works  to  make  money.  She  can't  sit  on 
a  chair  and  twirl  her  thumbs  and  wait  for  a  husband 
to  drop  into  her  lap  out  of  the  skies  like  a  ripe  plum. 
She  must  bend  destiny  to  her  purposes.  She  must 
make  sacrifices,  create  opportunities,  move  about,  use 
the  intelligence  that  God  has  given  her.  The  world 
is  full  of  men  who  are  half  ready  to  marry — she  must 
turn  the  balance! 

"  'Listen!  If  I  were  a  lonely  woman  yearning  for 
matrimony  I  would  pick  out  one  of  these  eligible  males 
and  make  him  my  own.  I  would  make  him  feel  that 
the  thing  he  wanted  above  all  other  things  was  to  have 
me  for  his  wife.  How  would  I  do  this?  I  would  study 
his  desires,  his  needs,  his  weaknesses;  I  would  make 
myself  so  necessary  to  him — as  necessary  as  a  mother 
is  to  a  child — that  he  couldn't  get  along  without  me. 
I  tell  you  it  can  be  done,  Pen,  by  the  resistless  power 
of  the  human  will.  The  trouble  with  most  of  us  is 
that  we  don't  want  things  hard  enough.  //  a  woman 
wants  a  husband  hard  enough  she  will  get  him — noth* 
ing  can  prevent  it!' 

"I  smiled  at  these  fantastic  views,  although  I  admit 
that  we  women  ought  to  be  more  masters  of  our  fates 
than  we  are.  In  my  own  case  I  suppose  it  would  have 
been  better  if  I  had  left  Julian  of  my  own  volition, 
because  it  was  right  to  leave  him,  instead  of  waiting 
for  an  automobile  accident  to  separate  us. 

"  'Please  be  sensible,  Kendall,'  I  protested.     'Give 


234  POSSESSED 

me  thoughts  that  apply  to  the  world  as  it  is,  not  ex 
travagant  fancies.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  there 
are  thousands,  tens  of  thousands,  of  fairly  attractive 
women  in  all  classes  of  society,  especially  in  the  wage 
earning  class,  who  have  no  chance  to  marry  the  kind 
of  man  they  wish  to  marry.  Besides,  there  are  a 
million  more  women  than  men  in  American.  They 
can't  all  get  husbands,  can  they?  There  aren't  enough 
men  to  go  around.  And  there  are  other  thousands  of 
wretched  women  tied  to  husbands  who  will  not  con 
sent  to  a  divorce.  What  are  all  these  unhappy  women 
to  do?' 

"  'Can't  they  get  along  without  men?'  he  laughed. 

"  'Can  men  get  along  without  women?'  I  answered, 
rather  annoyed.  Kendall  saw  that  I  was  serious  and 
changed  his  tone. 

"  'Let  me  get  this  straight,  Pen.  If  a  woman  longs 
for  the  companionship  of  a  man — you  mean  the  in 
timate  companionship?  You  are  not  talking  about 
platonic  friendship?' 

"  'No,  I  mean  the  intimate  companionship.' 

"  'And  she  cannot  marry?    Then  what  is  she  to  do? 
Is  that  what  you  mean?' 
"  'Yes.' 

"  'Ah!  Now  we  come  to  the  heart  of  the  discussion. 
You  want  to  know  if  there  are  cases  where  self-respect 
ing  women  enter  into  irregular  love  affairs  and  never 
regret  it?  Is  it  possible  for  a  woman  to  break  the 
moral  law  without  suffering  disastrous  consequences? 
Are  there  cases  where  a  girl  or  a  woman  yields  to  the 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        235 

desperate  cry  of  her  soul  for  a  mate  without  degrada 
tion  and  without  loss  of  her  self-respect?  Can  such 
things  be?  Do  you  want  my  honest  opinion?'  The 
poet's  eyes  challenged  me. 

"  'Yes,  that  is  exactly  what  I  want,  I  want  the  truth. 

"Whereupon  Kendall  Brown  assured  me  that  he  has 
known  a  number  of  rather  fine  women,  self-supporting 
and  self-respecting,  the  kind  of  women  who  say  their 
prayers  at  night  and  try  to  be  kind,  who,  nevertheless, 
have  had  liaisons  that  have  not  resulted  in  shame  and 
sorrow  or  in  any  moral  or  material  disaster. 

"  'Are  you  sure  of  this?     How  can  you  be  sure?* 

"  'Because  I  have  talked  frankly  with  these  women. 
Sometimes  I  was  in  a  position  where  I  could,  and,  any 
how,  women  tell  me  things.  They  know  it  is  my  busi 
ness  to  study  life,  to  glimpse  the  heights  and  depths 
of  human  nature.  I  would  be  a  poor  poet  if  I  couldn't 
do  that.' 

"  'And  these  women  told  you  that  they  have  never 
felt  regrets?' 

"'Practically  that — yes;  several  of  them  said  that 
they  would  do  the  same  thing  over  again  if  they  had 
to  re-live  their  lives.  They  have  been  happier,  more 
efficient  in  their  work,  they  have  had  better  health, 
calmer  nerves,  a  more  serene  attitude  towards  life 
because  of  these  love  affairs.' 

"  'I  don't  believe  it,'  I  declared.  'These  women  lied 
to  you.  They  kept  something  back.  The  thing  is 
wrong,  abominable,  and  nothing  can  make  it  right  or 
decent.  I  would  rather  die  of  loneliness.' 


236  POSSESSED 

"I  shall  never  forget  Kendall's  superior  smile  as  he 
answered  me: 

"  'Oh,  the  inconsistency  of  a  woman !  She  will  not 
marry,  she  will  not  have  an  affaire,  yet  she  longs  for 
the  intimate  companionship  of  a  man.  She  wants  to 
go  swimming,  but  insists  upon  keeping  away  from  the 
water.' 

"I  bit  my  lip  in  vexation  of  spirit. 

"  'Dear  friend,  don't  be  annoyed  with  me,'  my  poet 
continued  with  a  quick  change  to  gentleness.  'I  didn't 
make  the  world  or  put  these  troublesome  desires  and 
inconsistencies  into  the  hearts  of  women.  Listen !  I'll 
give  you  my  best  wisdom  now:  If  a  woman  cannot 
marry  and  will  not  have  a  lover,  then  she  must  stop 
all  stimulation  of  her  emotions,  she  must  put  men  out 
of  her  thoughts,  out  of  her  life  and  concentrate  on 
something  worth  while  that  will  not  harm  her.  Let 
her  take  up  the  purely  intellectual  life,  some  cultural 
effort — history,  art,  municipal  reform,  anything,  and 
absorb  herself  in  it.  Or  let  her  follow  the  old  path 
that  has  led  thousands  of  women  to  peace  of  mind — 
let  her  seek  the  comforts  of  religion.'  Then  smiling, 
he  added:  'You  might  become  a  missionary,  Pen,  in 
China  or  Armenia.  I'll  bet  you'd  be  flirting  with  some 
mandarin  or  pasha  before  you  got  through.' 

"Again  I  bit  my  lip,  for  I  knew  very  well  that  the 
religious  life  would  never  satisfy  me.  If  I  entered  a 
convent  I  should  probably  run  away  from  it  in  despair. 
What  a  horrible  situation  to  want  to  do  right  and  long 
to  do  wrong  at  the  same  time ! 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        237 

"Kendall  Brown  must  have  read  my  thoughts. 

"  'There  is  one  thing  you  self-pitying  ladies  must 
learn,'  he  went  on,  'that  is  to  -play  the  game  of  life 
according  to  the  rules.  You  can't  have  your  cake  and 
eat  it.  You  can't  amuse  yourselves  with  fire  without 
getting  burned.' 

"I  was  silent. 

"  'You  must  stop  flirting  with  temptation — that's 
what  you  all  do,  you  pretty  women,  fascinating  women. 
You  can't  deny  it.' 

"  'I  do  deny  it,'  I  said  weakly. 

"  'Oh  come  now!  How  about  dancing — when  a 
woman  has  a  sinuous,  clinging  body  and  wears  no 
corsets  and — you  know  what  I  mean.  Isn't  that  temp 
tation?' 

"  'It's  horrid  of  you,  Kendall  Brown,  to  suggest 
such  things.  Only  a  person  with  evil  thoughts ' 

"His  eyes  twinkled  at  me  good-humoredly  but  I 
refused  to  be  conciliated. 

"  'And  how  about  the  ancient  and  honorable  practice 
of  kissing?'  he  persisted.  'Of  course  it  is  not  done  any 
more,  I  realize  that.  No  pretty  woman  in  these  aus 
tere  days  ever  thinks  of  allowing  a  man  to  kiss  her — 
except  her  husband,  but — seriously,  isn't  kissing  a 
temptation?  Isn't  it,  Pen?' 

"By  this  time  my  nerves  were  decidedly  ruffled. 

"'You  are  too  foolish!'  I  stormed.  'I  wish  you 
would  go  home.  I  am  tired  of  your  ex-cathedra  state 
ments  and  your  self-sufficiency.' 

'  'No,'  he  flung  back,  studying  me  with  his  keen 
gray  eyes,  'you  are  tired  of  the  truth.'  ' 


238  POSSESSED 


CONCERNING  THE  DOUBLE  STANDARD 

With  great  diffidence  I  venture  to  say  a  word  about 
the  most  perplexing  and  embarrassing  question  in  the 
world : 

Shall  men  be  allowed  to  do  certain  things  without 
any  particular  punishment  or  social  condemnation, 
while  women  are  punished  mercilessly  for  doing  these 
same  things — things  that  men  compel  them  to  do? 

The  double  standard! 

Shall  women  try  to  change  this  standard,  and,  if  so, 
in  which  direction — up  or  down? 

Is  it  desirable  that  the  weaker  sex  be  given  more 
liberty  in  emotional  matters,  or  that  the  stronger  sex 
be  given  less  liberty? 

I  know  that  some  distinguished  women,  great  artists, 
'  stage  favorites  and  others  have  succeeded  brilliantly 
in  spite  of  sex  irregularities;  but  this  proves  nothing. 
These  women  succeeded  because  they  had  genius  or 
talent,  not  because  they  were  immoral,  just  as  certain 
men  of  genius  have  succeeded  in  spite  of  an  addiction 
to  various  evil  practices.  They  would  probably  have 
achieved  more  splendid  careers  had  they  been  able  to 
conquer  these  weaknesses.  Besides,  we  are  consider 
ing  what  is  best  for  the  majority  of  men  and  women, 
not  for  an  exceptional  few. 

I  have  a  friend,  a  public  school  teacher  in  Chicago, 

— Miss  Jessie  G ,  who  holds  advanced  views  on 

these  matters  and  admits  that  she  herself  has  been  a 
sex  transgressor.  She  has  never  been  sordid  or 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        239 

mercenary,  she  has  always  believed  that  she  was  actu 
ated  by  sincere  affection,  but  the  fact  remains  that  she 
has  had  several  affairs  with  men.  She  has  broken  the 
moral  law.  And  while  she  professes  not  to  regret  this 
and  insists  that  she  would  repeat  these  affairs  if  she 
had  to  live  her  life  over  again,  yet,  I  have  felt  in 
talking  with  her  that  this  cannot  possibly  be  true. 

Miss  G has  fine  instincts,  is  fond  of  music,  is 

proud  of  her  profession  and  shrinks  from  the  thought 
that  she  might  be  considered  declassee;  at  the  same 
time  she  knows  that  on  more  than  one  occasion  she  has 
been  treated  coldly  by  men  and  women  familiar  with 
the  facts  of  her  life.  For  example,  at  summer  hotels, 
in  spite  of  her  good  looks  and  apparent  respectability, 
she  has  been  denied  introductions  to  charming  women 
who  would  disapprove  of  her  behavior. 

That  hurts! 

Even  the  bravest  of  our  advanced  women  thinkers 
know  in  their  hearts  that  they  writhe  under  the  pity 
or  scorn  of  their  sister  women. 

It  is  certain  that  a  decent  woman  who  enters  into 
irregular  relations  with  a  man  whom  she  loves  must 
endure  great  distress  of  mind;  her  relations  with  this 
man  are  at  best  unsatisfactory.  She  accepts  the  dis 
advantages  of  wifehood  and  foregoes  the  advantages. 
She  can  see  her  adored  one  only  with  difficulty  at 
uncertain  times  and  places.  She  lives  in  constant  fear 
of  discovery.  She  is  doomed  to  torturing  loneliness 
for,  in  the  nature  of  things,  she  cannot  have  her  lover 
with  her  whenever  she  longs  to  have  him,  there  must 
be  days  and  weeks  of  the  inevitable  separation.  Nor 


24o  POSSESSED 

dare  she  write  to  him  freely,  lest  the  letters  fall  into 
wrong  hands.  In  no  way  may  she  reveal  her  love, 
the  proudest  treasure  in  her  life,  but  must  hide  it 
like  a  thing  of  shame. 

"My  poor  child,"  I  would  say  to  such  a  woman,  if 
I  might,  "remember  that  the  hard  test  comes  when 
things  go  wrong,  when  money  fails,  when  beauty  fades. 
Suppose  your  beloved  falls  ill.  You  cannot  go  to  him, 
speak  to  him,  minister  to  him  on  his  bed  of  pain, 
though  your  heart  is  breaking.  Even  if  he  is  dying, 
you  can  only  wait  .  .  .  wait  in  anguish  of  soul  for 
some  cold  or  covert  message.  You  have  no  rights 
at  his  side  that  the  family  respect — his  family.  Who 
are  you?  Are  you  his  wife?  No!  Then  you  are 
nothing,  less  than  nothing;  you  are  the  temptress, 
the  mistress!  You  love  him?  Bah!  Can  such  a 
woman  love?" 

Miss  G once  acknowledged  to  me  that  while 

she  has  enjoyed  the  companionship  of  superior  men 
whom  she  would  never  have  known  but  for  her  moral 
laxity,  yet  she  has  paid  a  heavy  price  here,  since  she 
no  longer  values  the  acquaintance  of  men  in  her  own 
sphere  of  life.  From  two  such  men  (excellent,  aver 
age  men)  she  has  received  offers  of  marriage  that  she 
refused  because  their  society  no  longer  satisfied  her 
after  that  of  others  more  brilliant  and  highly  placed; 
but  she  might  easily  have  been  happy  with  one  of  these 
two,  had  not  her  ideals  been  raised  to  a  level  beyond 
her  legitimate  attainment. 

I  might  present  other  difficulties  that  must  be  faced 
by  a  woman  who  says  she  is  tired  of  the  old  standards 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        24! 

of  virtue  and  will  live  her  life  as  a  man  lives  his, 
but  I  need  not  detail  these  difficulties.  In  her  deepest 
soul  every  woman  knows  that  the  thought  of  a  way 
ward  existence  is  abhorrent  to  her  better  nature.  She 
hates  the  double  standard,  she  knows  it  has  worked 
only  evil  in  the  world — it  is  a  debasement  of  all  that 
is  noblest,  a  betrayal  of  all  that  is  most  beautiful. 
The  double  standard  has  done  more  harm  to  the 
human  race  th\an  all  the  wars  of  history. 

Women  know  this,  but  they  are  afraid  to  speak  out, 
they  are  afraid  to  fight  for  their  ideals,  and  passing 
years  find  men  clinging  to  hideous  sex  privileges — 
one  law  of  morality  for  men  and  another  law  for 
women. 

I  believe  that  American  women  could  change  all 
this,  they  could  abolish  the  wicked  double  standard, 
as  they  have  abolished  saloons  and  houses  of  degrada 
tion,  if  they  would  face  the  facts  of  life  instead  of 
ignoring  them.  It  is  merely  a  matter  of  courage  and 
organization.  Suppose  a  hundred  women  in  a  single 
city  should  pledge  themselves  to  bar  from  their  homes 
and  acquaintance  notorious  sex  offenders — men  of 
fenders?  And  to  question  clean-minded  men  of  their 
acquaintance,  influential  men,  about  these  things  and 
to  get  honest  answers?  And  to  have  these  answers 
openly  discussed — perhaps  in  the  churches?  Why 
not?  What  are  churches  for  except  to  fight  evil? 

What  would  the  average  man  say  to  a  \voman 
whom  he  respected  and  trusted  if  she  asked  him  to  tell 
her,  on  his  honor  as  a  good  citizen,  whether  he  be 
lieves  that  the  double  standard  is  helpful  or  harmful 


242  POSSESSED 

to  the  women  of  America?  Helpful  or  harmful  to 
the  children  of  America?  To  the  manhood  of  Amer 
ica?  Whether  he  is  glad  or  sorry  to  think  of  the 
effects  that  his  double-standard  pleasures  have  had 
upon  American  women?  Whether  he  would  wish  his 
sons  to  follow  in  his  double-standard  footsteps? 
Whether  he  would  be  willing  to  give  up  his  double- 
standard  privileges,  if  by  so  doing,  he  could  save  ten 
American  women  like  his  mother  or  his  daughter  from 
destruction?  Would  he  be  willing  to  do  that?  Will 
he  give  his  pledge  to  do  that? 

Think  how  such  a  leaven  of  decency  and  clean  man 
hood  might  spread  throughout  the  land!  It  might 
start  a  single-standard  revival  that  would  sweep  the 
world.  By  the  power  of  courage  and  faith  and  the 
love  of  God! 

SHALL     A    WIFE     FORGIVE     HER     HUSBAND     FOR     UN 
FAITHFULNESS? 

I  have  thought  deeply  about  this,  remembering  what 
I  suffered  with  Julian.  It  is  terribly  hard  to  tell  the 
truth;  a  woman  is  filled  with  shame  for  herself  and 
for  her  whole  sex  when  she  tries  to  tell  the  truth 
about  the  unfaithfulness  of  husbands. 

How  long  shall  a  wife  forgive?  How  much  shall 
she  deliberately  ignore? 

Many  women  say:  "I  would  never  forgive  my 
husband  if  he  deceived  me."  Others  say:  "I  would 
never  forgive  my  husband  if  I  knew  that  he  had  de 
ceived  me."  And  still  others  say:  "If  my  husband 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        243 

must  deceive  me,  I  hope  he  will  never  let  me  know  it." 

The  tragic  truth  is  (as  all  women  vaguely  suspect) 
that  thousands  of  devoted  husbands,  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  average  husbands  have  at  one  time  or 
another  fallen  from  grace.  Julian  used  to  say  that 
if  all  the  men  in  America  who  have  broken  the  seventh 
commandment  were  sent  away  to  do  penance  on  lonely 
mountain  tops,  we  should  run  short  of  mountains. 

He  told  me  also  that  a  man  can  love  his  wife  so 
sincerely  that  he  would  gladly  die  for  her,  yet,  in  a 
moment  of  temptation,  he  may  be  untrue  to  her. 
Julian  was  an  impossible  person,  but  other  clean- 
minded  men,  including  my  dear  Christopher,  have 
told  me  the  same  thing. 

The  truth  is  that  most  men  have  never  learned  to 
resist  sex  temptation ;  they  grow  up  with  the  knowledge 
that  they  need  not  resist  temptation,  which  is  the  fault 
of  society,  as  now  organized,  the  fault  of  wrong  teach 
ing,  of  insincere  preaching,  of  nation-wide  hypocrisy. 

I  have  come  to  see  that  women,  so  long  as  they 
have  not  set  themselves  as  a  body  against  this  evil 
system  (which  they  might  evidently  change  if  they 
would  act  together)  have  no  right  to  complain  of  its 
inevitable  consequences.  Men  will  abandon  sex  ex 
cesses,  as  they  have  abandoned  drinking  excesses, 
gradually,  through  education,  through  reasonable  ap 
peal,  through  the  resistless  force  of  public  opinion 
intelligently  aroused  and  directed  by  devoted  women. 
And  in  no  other  way! 

Meantime,  it  is  the  duty  of  individual  wives  to  be 
merciful,  as  far  as  they  can,  towards  erring  husbands. 


244  POSSESSED 

The  cure  lies  often  in  more  love  from  the  wife  rather 
than  in  less  love. 

To  any  tortured  wife  who  knows  or  half  knows 
certain  things  about  her  husband,  I  say  this — "Dear 
friend,  as  long  as  you  love  him,  forgive  him.  As  long 
as  he  loves  you,  forgive  him.  Be  patient — enduring. 
Make  the  hard  fight  against  sensuality  with  your  hus 
band,  but  don't  let  him  know  you  are  making  it. 
Make  this  fight  exactly  as  you  would  a  similar  fight 
against  alcohol  or  drugs." 

A  woman  must  be  on  her  guard,  however,  lest  she 
hide  under  a  cloak  of  forgiveness,  some  base  motive 
in  her  own  heart.  Alas  1  I  know,  better  than  anyone, 
how  easily  we  women  can  deceive  ourselves. 

There  is  an  ignoble  forgiveness  that  is  based  on  love 
of  material  advantages — love  of  money.  There  are 
women  who  tolerate  faithless  husbands  because  they 
are  too  cowardly  or  indolent  to  fight  the  battle  of 
life  alone.  What  would  they  do  if  they  left  their 
sheltered  homes?  Who  would  provide  comforts  and 
luxuries?  How  would  they  dress  themselves?  How 
would  they  live?  Shall  it  be  by  working?  But  they 
hate  to  work.  They  have  never  learned  to  work.  It 
was  partly  as  a  defense  against  this  woman  helpless 
ness  that  I  took  up  trained  nursing  while  Julian  was 
still  alive. 

A  still  more  degrading  forgiveness  is  based  on  sen 
suality.  There  are  women  married  to  brutes  of  hus 
bands  who  will  endure  every  humiliation,  surrender 
ing  all  their  fine  ideals  and  high  purposes  rather  than 
leave  these  coarse  mates. 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        245 

I  first  realized  this  just  before  I  went  abroad  to 
nurse  the  soldiers.  I  had  gone  to  the  Adirondacks 
that  summer  for  a  rest,  and  one  day  on  a  motor  trip 
I  stopped  for  luncheon  at  a  farm  house,  and  there  I 
recognized  an  old  friend  from  my  home  town,  Laura 

K ,  who  was  to  have  had  a  brilliant  musical 

career.  It  was  she  who  had  encouraged  me  to  de 
velop  my  voice;  but  I  never  could  have  been  the 
great  artist  that  Laura  might  have  been.  A  famous 
impresario  had  judged  her  voice  to  be  so  fine — it 
was  a  glorious  contralto — that  he  had  offered  to  ad 
vance  money  for  her  musical  studies  abroad.  He  as 
sured  Laura  that  in  three  years  she  would  be  a  blaz 
ing  star  on  the  grand  opera  stage. 

That  was  the  last  I  had  heard  of  my  old  friend, 
and  here  suddenly  I  found  her,  married  to  a  hulking 
mountaineer,  half  trapper,  half  guide.  Here  was  my 
wonderful,  burning-eyed  Laura,  who  might  have  had 
the  world  at  her  feet,  a  farm  drudge  taking  in  sum 
mer  boarders!  How  was  this  possible? 

I  spent  the  afternoon  seeking  an  answer  to  this 
riddle.  We  walked  out  into  the  forest  and  talked  for 
hours,  but  whenever  I  pressed  for  an  explanation, 
she  halted  in  confusion.  Her  mother  was  old  and  ill 
and — she  did  not  wish  to  leave  her.  But,  I  pointed 
out,  she  had  never  spoken  of  this  before,  she  had  al 
ways  cared  supremely  about  her  voice,  about  her  great 
musical  triumph  that  was  to  be.  Was  not  that  true? 
Yes,  of  course,  but — the  mountain  air  was  so  good  for 
her  mother.  And  she  made  other  trivial  excuses. 

Finally,  I  got  the  truth  as  we  were  strolling  home 


246  POSSESSED 

in  the  twilight  and  met  her  husband  slouching  along 
with  a  gun  over  his  shoulder.  As  I  caught  his  sullen, 
tawny  glance  and  sensed  his  superb,  muscular  figure, 
I  suddenly  understood.  He  nodded  curtly  and  passed 
on — this  cave  man ! 

"That  was  the  reason,  Laura,  wasn't  it?"  I 
whispered. 

She  looked  at  me  in  silence,  biting  her  lips,  and 
blushed  furiously. 

"Yes,"  she  confessed,  "that  was  the  reason." 

is  IT  A  WOMAN'S  DUTY  TO  TELL  HER  HUSBAND  OF 

PAST  TRANSGRESSIONS? 

I  am  not  sure  what  I  really  believe  about  this  in  my 
deepest  soul.  Thousands  of  women  who  long  to  do 
right  will  agree  with  me  that  it  is  a  terribly  difficult 
question  to  answer. 

If  this  were  an  ideal  world  where  men  and  women 
had  been  purified  and  spiritualized  to  a  Christ-like 
loftiness  of  soul,  one  would  say  yes;  but  it  is  not.  A 
loving  wife  does  not  wish  her  husband  to  confess  to 
her  his  past  transgressions,  she  takes  him  as  he  is  and 
is  happy  to  start  a  new  life  with  him,  turning  over  a 
clean  page.  She  only  asks  that  he  be  loyal  and  faith 
ful  in  the  future.  And  if  she  is  ready  to  give  him 
similar  loyalty  and  faithfulness,  if  she  has  sincerely 
repented  of  any  sinful  act,  is  not  that  sufficient?  Why 
must  she  risk  the  destruction  of  their  happiness  by  a 
revelation  that  will  do  no  good  to  anyone?  Why  must 
she  give  her  husband  needless  pain? 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        247 


And  yet- 


While  the  vast  majority  of  women  will  agree  that 
such  feminine  reticence  about  past  wrong-doing  is 
justifiable,  the  truth,  as  I  have  come  to  see  it,  is  that, 
in  so  agreeing,  women  must  subscribe  to  a  creed  of 
deliberate  deception.  A  man  marries  a  woman  whom 
he  believes  to  be  virtuous,  a  woman  whom  he  might 
refuse  to  marry  if  he  knew  that  she  were  not  virtuous. 
And  this  woman  does  nothing  to  disabuse  him  of  his 
error.  Is  that  right?  She  allows  her  husband  to  keep 
a  certain  good  opinion  of  her  that  is  not  justified.  No 
matter  how  excellent  her  motive  may  be,  the  fact  re 
mains  that  this  marriage  rests  upon  an  insecure  foun 
dation,  upon  an  implied  falsehood.  Thousands  of 
plays  and  stories  have  been  constructed  on  this  theme, 
and  they  usually  end  unhappily. 

Suppose  a  man  who  had  been  in  prison  should  marry 
a  woman  who  was  ignorant  of  this  cloud  on  his  life, 
trusting  to  chance  that  his  criminal  record  would  never 
be  discovered?  The  two  cases  are  somewhat  paral 
lel.  What  would  the  woman  say  if  she  learned  later 
that  she  had  unwittingly  married  an  ex-convict?  Would 
she  not  prefer  that  he  had  told  her  the  truth  before  he 
married  her? 

On  the  other  hand  it  may  be  argued  that  a  woman's 
sin,  being  presumably  the  fault  of  some  man,  may  be 
properly  expiated,  in  part  at  least,  by  some  other  man. 
But  that  does  not  dispose  of  the  difficulty  that  a  woman 
who  conceals  past  indiscretions  from  her  husband  is 
condemned  to  live  a  lie. 

One  deception  almost  invariably  leads  to  another 


248  POSSESSED 

deception  until  a  whole  chain  or  net  of  equivocations, 
ruses,  trickeries,  is  established  with  the  hideous  possi 
bility  of  some  shocking  divorce  scandal,  possibly  years 
later  when  innocent  children  may  be  the  sufferers. 

Even  if  such  disaster  is  averted  and  the  truth  is 
never  revealed,  even  if  all  goes  well  apparently 
through  happy  married  years,  yet  the  poison  of  deceit 
may  work  a  spiritual  disaster  in  this  woman — such  a 
disaster  as  overwhelmed  me— or  it  may  bring  about  a 
lowering  of  moral  standards  in  a  woman,  a  stifling  of 
religious  life,  that  will  have  sinister  and  far-reaching 
consequences. 

The  greatest  need  in  the  world  today  is  the  need  of 
spirituality  among  women,  for  they  are  the  teachers  of 
the  young. 

As  illustrating  the  frightful  harm  that  may  result 
from  such  a  lack  of  spirituality  in  a  woman,  I  quote 
from  my  diary  the  case  of  a  great  English  lady  whom 
I  met  while  I  was  nursing  in  the  battle  region  back  of 
Verdun.  She  had  come  from  London  to  be  near  her 
son,  a  magnificent  soldier,  the  handsomest  Englishman 
I  have  ever  seen,  who  had  been  wounded  in  the  Meso- 
potamian  campaign  and  was  now  here  for  his  conval 
escence. 

"Lady  Maude  H G is  a  fascinating 

woman,"  I  wrote.  "She  must  have  been  a  great  beauty 
in  her  day,  and  she  seems  to  be  a  figure  in  the  rich, 
smart  London  set.  She  speaks  quite  casually  of  being 
invited  to  this  or  that  palace  for  a  chat  and  a  cup  of 
tea  with  one  of  the  princesses  or  even  with  the  Queen. 
During  hours  that  she  spent  at  the  hospital  she  talked 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        249 

to  me  frankly  and  charmingly  about  many  things  con 
nected  with  her  boy  and  his  future.  She  is  worried 
lest  some  designing  woman  get  him  in  her  power,  and 
one  day  she  told  me  that  she  has  arranged  matters  for 
Leonard  so  that  he  will  be  spared  certain  perils  of  this 
kind  that  might  surround  him  in  London.  This  excel 
lent  and  brilliant  mother  has  solved  her  son's  problem 
— the  sex  problem — in  the  following  extraordinary 
way,  which  proves,  so  she  seems  to  think,  her  love  and 
wisdom.  She  has  arranged  matters — goodness  knows 
how — so  that  Leonard  will  be  on  excellent  terms  with 
two  beautiful  young  matrons  in  her  set  and  in  this 
way  he  will  not  be  vamped  off  by  any  unscrupulous 
chorus  girl.  These  two  beauties  are  to  serve  for  the 
delectation  of  this  young  warrior  until  he  can  make  a 
suitable  marriage.  What  a  commentary  upon  the 
morals  and  standards  of  high  society!" 

How  can  one  explain  such  incredible  baseness? 

This  woman  is  not  an  ignoble  person.  On  the  con 
trary  she  is  kind  and  generous,  full  of  the  best  inten 
tions.  She  has  simply  reached  a  point  in  her  selfish 
round  of  vanity  and  pleasure-seeking  where  she  can  no 
longer  distinguish  between  right  and  wrong.  Her  soul 
is  withered,  starved,  because  it  has  been  deprived  of 
God's  love  and  God's  truth;  yet  the  deterioration  came 
gradually,  no  doubt,  beginning  with  petty  lies  and  com 
promises  and  evasions  of  responsibility.  If  she  had 
any  past  transgression  on  her  conscience  it  is  certain 
she  never  told  her  husband  about  it. 

It  is  a  rule  among  women  (with  few  exceptions) 
that  idleness  and  uselessness  make  for  selfishness  and 


250  POSSESSED 

sensuality.  Also  for  irreligion.  These  ultra  mon- 
daines  think  of  God  in  an  amiable,  well-bred  way — 
they  approve  of  God,  and  they  say  their  prayers  in  an 
amiable,  well-bred  way;  but  none  of  this  avails  to  re 
generate  their  lives  or  to  combat  the  sensuality  of 
their  self-indulgent  men.  Nor  does  it  save  these 
women  themselves  from  submitting  to  a  social  regime 
that  is  largely  based  on  indulgence  of  the  senses  and 
the  appetites.  //  y  en  a,  de  ces  femmes  du  monde,  qui 
se  conduisent  d'une  faqon  pire  que  les  files  de  joie. 

As  for  myself  I  told  my  husband  everything.  I  kept 
back  nothing  of  my  waywardness  and  sinfulness,  my 
evil  thoughts  and  desires.  I  admit  that  most  men 
would  not  forgive  a  wife  or  a  young  bride  who  con 
fessed  to  some  sex  transgression  committed  before  her 
marriage.  I  also  admit  that  the  chances  are  against  a 
husband's  discovering  such  a  transgression,  if  the  wife 
keeps  silent.  It  is  apparently  to  the  wife's  advantage 
to  keep  silent;  it  apparently  pays,  in  this  case,  to  live  a 
lie;  but  if  deeper  values  are  considered,  if  the  sacred- 
ness  of  a  woman's  soul  is  taken  into  account,  then  a 
woman  will  see  that  she  must  confess,  regardless  of 
consequences.  Alas,  this  is  a  very  hard  thing  for  the 
ordinary  woman  to  do — the  ordinary  woman  who  is 
neither  a  saint  on  a  stained  glass  window  nor  the  hero 
ine  of  a  novel.  But  if  she  has  the  moral  courage  to 
confess  her  sin  (knowing  that  life  is  given  us  for  some 
thing  else  than  temporary  advantage),  then,  having 
cleansed  her  soul,  she  will  be  singularly  blessed  with 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  WOMEN        251 

peace  of  mind,  and  will  be  given  strength  to  bear  what 
ever  comes,  even  loneliness.  Besides,  there  are  men 
who  know  how  to  forgive.  God  knows  most  of  them 
have  need  enough  to  be  forgiven  themselves. 


EPILOGUE 

A  WOMAN'S  LITANY 
(Written  by  Penelope  Wells) 

I  DEDICATE  to  other  women  who  may  have  done 
wrong,  as  I  did,  or  who  may  be  sorely  tempted  as  I 
was,  these  thoughts  that  have  comforted  me — they 
have  been  like  a  consecration  of  my  life.  I  have  had 
them  printed  on  vellum  in  a  little  red  book  no  larger 
than  a  visiting  card  and  so  thin  that  I  can  slip  it  inside 
my  glove.  This  is  my  talisman.  I  read  these  thoughts 
whenever  I  am  wavering  or  discouraged,  wherever  I 
may  be,  in  crowds  or  solitude,  walking  in  the  street, 
sitting  in  a  car,  and  they  always  give  me  new  heart 
and  courage. 

I 

When  I  am  weak  or  embittered,  indolent,  envious, 
I  know  that  I  can  find  strength  through  the  perform 
ance  of  some  loving  act,  however  small.  I  can  brighten 
the  dullest  sky  with  the  sunshine  of  a  little  love.  I 
know  that  sin  and  evil  come  chiefly  from  selfishness 
and  sensuality.  I  can  conquer  selfishness  by  love.  I 
can  conquer  sensuality  by  love.  I  can  overcome  all 

252 


A  WOMAN'S  LITANY  253 

evil,  all  fear,  all  vanity,  by  love.     There  is  no  death, 
but  the  death  of  love.     From  which, 

Dear  Lord,  deliver  me. 

II 

I  know  that  pride  is  the  worship  of  self :  but  humil 
ity  is  the  worship  of  God.  Pride  leads  to  discontent, 
but  humility  in  loving  service  (no  matter  how  obscure) 
gives  peace  of  mind.  From  all  forms  of  pride, 

Dear  Lord,  deliver  me. 

Ill 

I  know  that  only  harm  can  come  to  me  from  dwell 
ing  upon  past  mistakes,  follies,  sins.  I  cannot  change 
these  so  I  put  them  out  of  my  thoughts  and  concen 
trate  on  the  present,  which  is  mine  to  do  with  as  I 
please.  From  all  vain  regrets, 

Dear  Lord,  deliver  me. 

IV 

I  know  that  right  living  comes  only  from  right 
thinking.  To  do  right  under  stress  of  law  or  custom 
while  desiring  to  do  wrong  is  to  make  a  mocke^  of 
virtue.  I  must  sincerely  desire  to  do  right.  "fce 
forces  of  life-control  must  act  from  within  me,  not 
from  without.  From  all  hypocrisy  and  false  pretense, 

Dear  Lord,  deliver  me. 


254  POSSESSED 


I  know  that  a  woman  cannot  be  virtuous  if  she  longs 
for  sensuality,  or  dalliea  with  it,  or  dwells  upon  it  in 
her  thoughts,  even  though  she  refrain  from  any  sinful 
act.  Nor  can  a  married  woman  be  a  truly  virtuous 
wife  if  she  yields  to  perverse  revellings  of  the  imagina 
tion  which  defile  body  and  soul — even  with  hef  hus 
band!  From  all  defilements  of  love, 

Dear  Lord,  deliver  me. 


THB  1WD 


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